Ember and Flame
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Victoria drunkenly kisses Lord Melbourne the night of her disastrous coronation ball. Every moment between them from there grows just a little more tense until everything threatens to explode. Once she's had a taste of Lord M, can Victoria ever really let go of the idea of him? Novel-length WIP, Slow burn Vicbourne.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm afraid you're tired, Ma'am. Perhaps you should retire." Melbourne took a steadying breath, trying to calm his queen with his own energy. But she staggered drunkenly toward him and said, halfway between laughter and tears,

"I don't want to retire. I want to dance with you."

Then she fell against him, and though he kept his back straight, she reached up and seized his face in her hands. Her eyes, glazed with drink, shifted then, and she pulled herself up onto her tiptoes. Suddenly Melbourne realised she meant to kiss him, and he tried to pull back. But she was determined, and she wrenched him hard against her mouth. Her lips smashed against his, unpractised and unsteady, and Melbourne huffed in shock against her. Finally he took a large step backward, steadying Victoria with his hands on her shoulders. She looked amazed with herself, as though she couldn't believe what she'd done.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with intoxication. Melbourne squeezed a little at her shoulders and shook his head.

"Goodnight, Ma'am."

Victoria backed away, and for a moment he worried that she would topple over. She turned to go, glancing once over her shoulder with fear in her drunken eyes.

* * *

Victoria paced in her drawing room, her head aching from the night before. She'd asked him to come; would he answer her summons? Was she even remembering it correctly? Perhaps she hadn't done it, after all. Perhaps the alcohol had marred her memory.

"The Right Honourable Lord Melbourne."

The door opened with the announcement, and Melbourne came striding formally into the drawing room. He immediately dropped to his knee and kissed Victoria's shaking hand, and when he stood, she quickly said,

"I would be remiss not to apologise, Lord M. I was not myself last night."

"No, Ma'am," he agreed, "but you've nothing to apologise for. Consider it forgotten."

She blinked, thinking that she would never be able to forget it now that she knew it had been real. She'd never had a kiss before that - not a real one, anyway. What sort of a first kiss had that been? Her eyes welled a little, and she mumbled,

"I had too much Champagne."

"Yes, Ma'am," Melbourne said stiffly, "and I daresay the Grand Duke did his best to make you profoundly uncomfortable."

"Then I proceeded to make you profoundly uncomfortable, I'm sure," Victoria said regretfully. "I do not want things to be awkward between us now."

Melbourne's face softened then, his jaw tightening and loosening as he told her, "You are very young to have been put in that position, Ma'am. Dancing with strange men, everyone staring at you, the specter of the crown heavy on your head. No one in their right mind would blame you for overindulging in the drink."

"Sir John Conroy did," Victoria said. "He warned me not to drink too much, and I did it anyway. Perhaps I am the fool he's always told me I am."

"If I may suggest it, Ma'am, I think you ought to stop listening to Sir John Conroy." Melbourne seemed angry then, and he added, "He does not have your best interests or anything resembling them at heart, I'm afraid."

"And you?" Victoria asked, and when he tipped his head, she clarified, "You have my best interests at heart, don't you, Lord M?"

"Of course, Ma'am," he said gently. Victoria shifted on her feet.

"So you won't tell anyone what I did? That I... that I kissed you?"

Melbourne scoffed. "No, Ma'am. I do not suppose it would do anyone on Earth any good for me to share that. And, anyway, as I said, I have forgotten it."

"Then you must be awfully good at forgetting," Victoria said. She shut her eyes then, thinking she was probably embarrassing herself worse than ever. She decided then to simply change the subject. She opened her eyes and said gravely, "I believe that there has been a criminal conversation between Lady Flora Hastings and Sir John."

Melbourne narrowed his eyes. "That's quite a weighty accusation, Ma'am. What leads you to believe such a thing?"

"There is evidence that they were alone in a carriage in Scotland, and last night I saw... a dinstinctive swell upon her." Victoria felt her cheeks go warm, but Melbourne shook his head.

"Ma'am. I beg you not to disrupt Lady Flora's powerful Tory allies, nor to trouble your coronation with a scandal like this."

"It would be just like Sir John to have put a child on her," Victoria hissed. "I despise him."

"I recommend that you leave the whole thing be, Ma'am," Melbourne said. "Focus your attentions on your coronation."

"You will be by my side tomorrow, won't you?" Victoria asked carefully. "You'll be there all the while? It will comfort me to have you close on such a momentous occasion."

His green eyes flashed a little, and he said slowly, "I shall be there, Ma'am... as your prime minister."

Victoria felt then as though she'd ruined everything, all the friendship she'd built up with him, and her eyes burned as she told him,

"Then I shall see you tomorrow, Lord Melbourne."

"Ma'am." He bowed, much lower than usual, and he began to back formally from the room. Then he paused, looking as though he'd changed his mind, and he stood up a bit straighter. "Ma'am, there has been so very little rehearsal or preparation about the coronation. I wonder if it might not suit you to go to Westminster Abbey later this afternoon... practise a bit."

Victoria smirked a little. "Are you saying that because I botched my coronation ball so very badly?"

"No, Ma'am." A little hint of a smile danced on his thin lips, and he said, "It is only that it will be a very long ceremony, with a great deal of pomp and many prescribed actions, and I only desire that you look as prepared as possible."

"There you go again," Victoria smiled, "with my best interests at heart. Yes. I shall go over this afternoon. Will you be there?"

He nodded. "Of course I will, Ma'am."

* * *

"So," Melbourne said, once he and Victoria had returned to Buckingham Palace from the Abbey, "What did you think, Ma'am?"

"It is quite a lot to take in," she admitted, pouring herself a bit of wine from the decanter between them and sipping nervously from it. Melbourne rather playfully plucked the glass from her hands, knowing he was exceeding his privilege and doing it anyway.

"Perhaps a sober evening, Ma'am," he suggested. "The guns will wake you at four."

"I do not suppose I shall sleep no matter what," Victoria said, but she did not argue about him taking her wine away. He smiled a little at her and shrugged.

"The Bishop of Durham is rather a bumbling fool. He'll make all the mistakes for you. No one else will know their cues or prescribed behaviours. Keep your chin up, your face pleasant, and you will look every bit a monarch."

"Thank you, Lord M," Victoria said seriously. "I do not suppose I would have made it this far without you."

He laughed a little and shook his head. "You don't need me, Ma'am. I am but a fortunate observer."

"I think you are much more than that," she said. "I will feel safe tomorrow with you near me. I shall be terrified, but I shall try very hard not to show it. Will you promise me something?"

"I shall try, Ma'am," Melbourne said cautiously. Victoria picked at her skirts and said nervously,

"When I find your eyes tomorrow, just nod a little to reassure me that I have not failed."

"You could never fail, Ma'am," Melbourne assured her, "but I shall nod just the same."

She was quiet for a long time then, and he knew that she was contemplating the enormous weight that was about to be put upon her. She finally licked her bottom lip and said quietly,

"I do not regret it. I find myself unable to regret it."

Kissing him, she meant. He said nothing. This was not anything they could discuss. And, anyway, she was but a young girl in desperate need of guidance. She was only clinging to him because he was the only one looking out for her. He stared into the glass of wine he'd taken from her and tried not to consider that she was very pretty. He tried not to remember the smell of rose perfume she'd had upon her the night before. She was little more than a girl. She was his queen.

"It will be a very early morning, Ma'am," he said. "I ought to retire and leave you to rest."

"Very well." Victoria stood, and Melbourne flew to his feet to join her. They stood staring at one another for too long a moment, and he found himself noticing the precise colour of her eyes. Victoria blinked up at him and whispered,

"I am very nervous."

"You'll be magnificent, Ma'am," Melbourne assured her. Something compelled him to bend down then, and, very much on impulse, he touched his lips to her cheekbone and whispered again, "You will be magnificent."

She seemed breathless as he stood up straight again, her face seeming very young then as her eyes went wide. Finally she said,

"Goodnight, Lord M."

"Ma'am." He bowed his head and turned to go, knowing that she wouldn't scold him for not backing out. Once he was outside her drawing room, he wrenched his eyes shut and cursed himself. He ought not to have given her that sort of kiss, the kind that must have felt very affectionate. He ought not to have kissed her at all, but then, she'd done it first.

He nearly stormed out of the palace, resolving to simply do his job at her coronation as her prime minister. If she found his eyes, he would nod to reassure her. He would hold the sword of state. But he would also put an end to this nervous flirtation, this buzzing energy that had sprung up between them in the last few days. Tomorrow she would have the weight of her kingdom upon her head, and he vowed to himself that he would step back from her. He would not be in her way.

 **Author's Note: Well, hello again. This story obviously takes place much earlier in Victoria's reign than the other stories I've written. This will be a novel-length slow burn in which things begin to fizzle and flare between Victoria and Lord M. Once embers turn to flames, can Victoria possibly move onto a princely husband? I hope you'll join me for this fic. Please do leave a comment if you get a quick moment.**


	2. Chapter 2

"How could I have been so egregiously mistaken?"

Victoria stared at Dash as he gnawed upon a fresh bone. Lord Melbourne sighed and took a step or two beside her divan.

"You saw swelling and you became suspicious. She did have swelling. How were you to know that it was a tumour? You drew a reasonable conclusion, Ma'am."

"But you told me not to pursue it," she said numbly, and Melbourne tipped his head.

"I did."

"I ignored you," she said, raising her eyes to him. He pursed his lips.

"You did."

"To my detriment, I think. The poor woman is gravely ill, and now everyone will think me very cruel." Victoria turned her eyes back to Dash, and Melbourne said gently,

"There will be missteps along the way, Ma'am, but you will get past this difficulty. Show me a road without a single bump upon it and I shall eat my hat."

Victoria couldn't help but smile weakly at that. She swallowed hard then, studying the way Melbourne's cheekbones cut sharply across his face. Was he old? She supposed he was. He did not seem so very old. He seemed awfully handsome. Her cheeks went a bit hot, and she told him,

"I will listen more attentively to you in future, Lord M."

"I am hardly in charge of your actions, Ma'am," Melbourne said. He stared at the place beside her and then tentatively sat, and he surprised her by reaching for her hand. He held it between the two of his, and she stared down at their fingers as he assured her, "You are more than capable, Your Majesty. Do not let this single error throw you entirely off balance."

He did not let her hand go, and Victoria raised her gaze to meet his. Suddenly her heart started to speed up in her chest, and she watched his mouth twitch a little. He was close enough that she could smell the dark, earthy aroma of him, and she was dizzy.

"Lord M," she whispered, "I can not do it without you. Any of it."

"Well. I am here whenever you call upon me, Ma'am, but I respectfully disagree. You are far more intelligent than they've given you credit for being. You are much bigger than you appear. Now. I must be going; I've an early morning meeting."

"Will you come and ride out tomorrow?" Victoria asked, and Melbourne hesitated.

"I think perhaps I ought to give you a few days to settle in properly after the coronation, Ma'am."

"No," she protested, squeezing at his hand a little. "No; I need you here as I learn my way."

He pulled his hands slowly away from hers, letting out a slow sigh, and he scratched at his slightly greying hair.

"I think perhaps a few days on your own is in order, Ma'am."

He flicked his green gaze up to hers then, and she could read it there. Rejection, or at least unease. She nodded silently, feeling very ashamed, and she thought again that she'd ruined everything by making a fool of herself and kissing him. She rose, and he followed suit, and once he'd gone, the drawing room had never felt so empty.

* * *

 _Dear Lord M,_

 _The Queen finds herself desolately without entertainment these last few dreary days. Seeing as the charming but presumptuous Grand Duke shall be joining us for dinner this evening, the Queen requests that another place at the table be occupied by her ceaselessly amusing Prime Minister. Say you'll come, Lord M._

 _\- Victoria R._

Melbourne read the letter for the third time, already having written back that if his sovereign wanted him at dinner, naturally he would come. He'd kept his distance from Victoria for days, focusing hard on his political concerns and trying to stop scolding himself. He should not have held her hand the night of her coronation, he knew. He'd sat beside her and had held her hand, and she would think that he wanted her. At the very least, she would think that he wanted something, something entirely inappropriate. In truth, it had felt in the moment like the right thing to do. She had been distressed, having learnt about Flora Hastings, and it had been a full day, to say the least. He'd wanted to comfort her, to put her anxious mind at ease, and so he'd held her hand just a moment too long.

She hadn't even known that a virgin might not conceive. She hadn't understood the mutual exclusivity of virginity and pregnancy. She was barely a woman, and yet she was the queen. Melbourne felt protective over her, like he needed to shield her from a hailstorm of enemies and threats that would come her way. And he felt something else, too, the sort of affection he had not directed toward any human in decades.

There, that night, sitting there beside her, it had felt right to hold her hand. Her skin had been soft, her fingers short and thin cradled against his rougher hand. But once he'd gone back to Dover House, Melbourne had realised that, yet again, he'd inadvertently been uncouth.

Still, if she wanted him at dinner, he could hardly refuse.

He dressed into a formal black coat, wondering for a brief moment if he ought to put on Court Uniform. The Grand Duke would be there, after all. But Victoria had not mentioned such dress, and so he wore black. The carriage ride to the palace was eerie, as if someone ought to be sitting opposite him. Melbourne stared at the empty bench, ignoring the ghost, the wisp of Victoria that he felt there for some reason. He'd see her soon enough.

He felt more nervous tonight than he'd felt at her coronation. She'd looked like a heavenly vision there, her eyes glancing over to where he'd held the sword of state. He'd nodded at her and she'd robbed him of his breath for a moment with her little smile of relief. But his nerves now were like nothing he'd felt in a great long while. He rubbed his palms a bit at his breeches, wondering why he was sweating as he approached the dining room.

She'd kissed him. That was why. It didn't matter that she'd been drunk. She'd wanted a kiss. Then he'd kissed her cheek, and he'd held her hand, and -

"Lord Melbourne."

He looked up to see Sir John Conroy, and he frowned a little as he admitted,

"Sir John. I was not, perhaps, expecting to see you tonight. I had thought this was rather a dinner of state."

Conroy gave a sour little smile and said, "I am here to accompany Her Majesty's mother. The Duchess of Kent is most distressed these last few days, since learning of her beloved Lady Flora's sickness."

"And how is Lady Flora?" Melbourne asked. Conroy raised his eyebrows and said,

"She is feeling unwell. She is resting in her chambers and will not be at dinner. Even if she were well, I doubt she would come. She is, understandably, horrified and deeply offended by her treatment."

"How fortunate it is that the doctors unearthed the source of Lady Flora's affliction," Melbourne said carefully, "so that she might receive prompt attention."

Conroy scoffed. "Spoken like a true politician, Sir. Do you deny that the Queen has made a terrible error in so accusing Lady Flora?"

Melbourne kept his face steely. "Lady Flora was not the only one accused. I understand your indignation, Sir John. I, too, have had such accusations leveled against me. I do recognise the sensation of fingers aimed at your chest. It is an unpleasant feeling. Now that your name has been cleared, I'm sure you will quickly and entirely forgive Her Majesty's misunderstanding."

Conroy just stared for a moment, and then he said quietly, "I believe you were the one to convince her publicly accuse me, Melbourne."

"Very much the opposite, Sir John," Melbourne said in a steady voice. "You have spent years in ignorance of this fact, I know, but... let me assure you that Her Majesty is very capable of making up her own mind."

"Enjoy your free meal, Prime Minister," Conroy sneered, and he turned to go without another word. Melbourne waited in the corridor for a long moment, hardly wanting to appear to walk in with Sir John Conroy of all people. He found his own face in a mirror on the wall and thought that the candlelight was casting odd shadows on him, making him look older than he was. Or perhaps he simply was old. He turned away from the mirror and walked through the dining room door when it was opened for him.

"The Prime Minister, The Right Honourable Lord Melbourne."

There was a card with his name upon it just beside the head of the table, where Victoria would sit. Melbourne was not surprised by that; if she'd invited him, then she would want him close, like always. Directly opposite him was Grand Duke Alexander of Russia, already seated. The handsome young man smiled as Melbourne took his seat, and he said,

"We missed you riding out yesterday, Lord Melbourne. Or, I should say, the Queen missed you."

Melbourne flicked up half his mouth and said patiently, "I'm sure your presence kept her entertained, Your Imperial Highness."

"Not the way yours would have done, I think." The Grand Duke winked, which set Melbourne ill at ease, and he shrugged.

"I have had a good deal of work to attend to these last several days. I am, after all, the Prime Minister of this country, Highness."

"She spoke incessantly of you," the Grand Duke barreled on. He imitated a high voice then and said, " _My dear Lord M likes to ride down this path; he likes to see the birds in the trees._ I did not guess you a lover of birds, Lord Melbourne."

"Oh, yes. I do quite like birds. Birds and flowers and other such manly endeavours." Melbourne was grateful then, because the door opened and a voice called,

"Her Majesty the Queen."

Everyone stood then, and Melbourne could not help but smile at her as she came swishing into the room, resplendent in a crimson silk gown with little flowers in her hair. She found his gaze at once, and he nodded silently, just like he'd promised to do.

* * *

"Lord M."

Victoria watched him as he looked up from his plate of cake with cherries. He swallowed his bite and washed it down with some dessert wine, and he asked quietly,

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Will you stay for a while after dinner?"

She was being very bold in asking, she knew, and indeed he looked surprised by the invitation. They usually talked during the daytime. Melbourne set down his fork and asked,

"Are you... hosting card games, Ma'am?"

"No," she said simply. She glanced over to where the Grand Duke was chatting animatedly with her cousin George. The two of them were rivals, she knew, but they seemed very interested in something besides her right now. Victoria returned her eyes to Melbourne, knowing she looked desperate as she announced quietly, "I grow a little weary of vetting suitors, Lord M."

He smirked down at his cake plate and nodded. He was meant to keep eye contact with her when speaking to her, but he kept his gaze down as he murmured,

"Perhaps you might sketch something, Ma'am, and I might keep you company whilst you do."

"Perhaps I might sketch you," she said playfully, and when his green eyes went up then, there was a strange flash in them. He nodded once, and Victoria decided she'd quite finished with her dessert. She set down her own fork and rose, prompting everyone else at the table to do the same.

"Thank you all for a fine evening," she said. "I shall retire now."

She walked quickly from the dining room then, knowing the others would mingle and chat for a little while before filtering out of the palace. She was followed by several of her ladies, but she called over her shoulder to them,

"I shall be alone in my drawing room this evening."

"You do not wish to play cards, Ma'am?" Harriet Sutherland sounded almost worried, but Victoria said,

"I feel like sketching, and I do not require my ladies this evening. Thank you."

"Yes, Ma'am." Emma Portman's voice was tight. They still followed her to the drawing room door, and when she turned round, all the ladies descended into deep, reverential curtsies. Victoria waited for the door to be opened for her, and once she was inside, she began rifling about in her desk drawers until she found thick sketching paper, erasers, and pencils. She silently set up her drawing easel and moved a large candelabra closer to a set of two chairs, and she sat down.

The drawing room door opened and closed without any proclamation, and from behind her, Melbourne's voice said quietly,

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; I thought perhaps I'd been announced enough this evening."

"Quite." Victoria rose from her chair and held her right hand out, nod Melbourne quickly genuflected and kissed her gloved hand. That reminded her that she wouldn't be able to sketch properly with gloves on, so she pulled them off and set them aside as she sank back down. She gestured for Melbourne to sit in the chair opposite her, and he did, wearing a cheeky little smirk as he begged her,

"Be kind to me with your artwork, Ma'am; I'm an old man with many flaws."

"I see no flaws at all," Victoria said, her cheeks going hot the instant she realised how that had probably sounded. She found her sharpest pencil and cleared her throat, and she clipped paper up onto her easel. She sighed and began to sketch the shape of Melbourne's head, and he murmured,

"How will you get the shape of my skull right if you don't look at it?"

"I know what you look like," Victoria muttered toward her paper.

"Then perhaps there is no need for me to be here at all," he teased her, "and I can return tomorrow to see the finished product."

Victoria glared playfully up at him and said, "Fine. I shall study you quite closely, Lord M."

She let her gaze move over his closely cropped hair, down the front of his chiseled and stately face, and she nervously put pencil to paper again, trying desperately to get the shape of his eyes. She didn't get the angle of them right, and she huffed as she complained,

"I am a terrible excuse for an artist, Lord M."

"On the contrary, Ma'am. I've always quite enjoyed your work."

When she looked up, he was smiling at her, and she complained,

"You are teasing me. Dash always looks like some sort of demented terrier when I draw him."

Melbourne snorted a little laugh then, and he said, "If it comforts you, Ma'am, I once tried to draw the orchids I grow at Brocket Hall. They seemed to be begging to be drawn, to be captured on the page in all of their strange and unique beauty."

"And did you capture them?" She asked, grinning at him. "Did you put your lovely drawings into a frame?"

"I put them into a fire," he said, "because they looked like scraps of meat left to rot. I decided thereafter to leave art to the artists. Still, I always smile when you show me something you've drawn or painted."

She felt herself blush then, and as she kept working on his facial features, she murmured,

"I do not know why the Grand Duke is still here. His father would never let him marry me, anyway."

"Perhaps he stays because he is fond of you, Ma'am," Melbourne suggested. "When a man is fond of a woman, I think perhaps the logistics of pursuing her do not matter. He will find it difficult to leave her just the same."

Victoria froze, her hand lost mid-stroke on his cheekbone. She swallowed hard and he said nothing, and she tried to convince herself that she'd misunderstood him, that he'd been speaking of the Grand Duke alone. She pinched her lips and drew the other cheekbone, instantly determining that she'd made him look gaunt and ill.

"This is a terrible sketch." She sat up and tore the paper from the easel, crumpling it in her hand and tossing it aside rather petulantly. Melbourne looked concerned then, appearing worried that he might have offended her. Victoria folded her hands in her lap and said what she'd been thinking for days.

"I am very glad I got so drunk the night of my coronation ball. Without the Champagne, I would not have had the courage to do it."

"Your Majesty, I have already forgotten about it," Melbourne said, not for the first time, but she stared into his eyes and watched them shift from a steely determination to something much softer. His cravat moved as his throat bobbed, and Victoria whispered,

"I do not want the Grand Duke, nor my cousin George, nor any of the other ones they'll shove at me."

"You needn't have any of them, Ma'am," Melbourne insisted. "You are very young and have the luxury of time to make your own decision on the matter. Will you start the sketch over?"

"No. I think I am too tired for drawing," Victoria whispered. "I think I shall go to bed."

"Then I thank you for the dinner invitation and wish you a very fine evening, Ma'am," Melbourne said, his jaw tightening a little. Victoria ought to have dismissed him then, or at least to have stood, but she just studied his eyes and murmured,

"I made them too narrow on the outsides."

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am?" Melbourne shifted where he sat, and she said in a hoarse voice,

"Your eyes. I got the shape wrong and was frustrated. You're right. It is better to study the subject closely before beginning to sketch. But I am frequently an impulsive creature, Lord M. You know this of me."

"Not impulsive, Ma'am," he said gently. "Enthusiastic."

He slowly rose then, and Victoria pulled herself from her chair. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest that she could practically feel the organ moving inside of her. She could hardly breathe. She wanted him, and not just for kisses. She wanted to feel his arms around her, for some reason. It would probably feel like the world's most comforting blanket if he would put his arms around her.

"Please say you will visit tomorrow," she said quietly once they reached the door, and Melbourne quirked up his lips.

"There's a vote in the House in the morning. I'm confident it will go our way, but how long it takes is up to the Tories and their appetite for argument. I shall come after the vote."

"Thank you," Victoria nodded. "Thank you for coming to dinner."

He tipped his head. "As though I could have refused you, Ma'am?"

"You could have said you were busy," she whispered, but he shook his head.

"No. I wanted to come."

There was something crackling in the air between them then. Victoria could feel it, like the air before a thunderstorm breaks out, tense and heavy and buzzing. He reached for her hands and squeezed them a little, his thumbs rubbing over the backs of her hands, and suddenly she thought perhaps he wasn't so angry about the night of the coronation ball. He leaned forward a few inches, his brows furrowing and his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He was going to kiss her, Victoria thought with a sudden spike of panicked anticipation.

But he didn't.

He released her hands, his fingers shaking wildly as he did, and he gave her a reassuring nod and smile, and he said quietly,

"Until tomorrow, then, Ma'am."

Then he quickly turned and reached for the door, practically slamming it shut behind him, and he was gone.

 **Author's Note: KISS HER, LORD M! Haha. I'm forcing myself to make this slow burn an actual burn instead of my usual conflagrations and explosions. I appreciate your patience. :} Thanks for reading, and a huge thanks to those who left such encouraging feedback on the first chapter. Love to all.**


	3. Chapter 3

Mozart.

She was playing Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 12 in F. He liked Mozart, and she knew that. Was it a coincidence, Melbourne wondered, that she'd chosen Mozart over Bach or other options today?

"Will you be going in, Lord Melbourne?"

He glanced up to the steward and silenced him with a glare, and he said, "In a moment."

He listened then, listened to the way she made little mistakes here and there. She was skilled, so it must be a new piece for her. Suddenly he could picture her eyes in the glow of firelight, at dinner or dancing, and her music made his stomach twist a little.

He'd dreamed of her the night before. He'd dreamed of kissing her against the trunk of a tree in the gardens at Melbourne Hall, near the Birdcage. She'd liked it, too, but when Melbourne had woken, drenched in sweat, he'd been terrified of the idea.

He stood in the corridor and just listened as her tiny fingers whirled over Mozart's delicate trills on the piano keys. Finally she brought the piece to an elegant finish, and Melbourne said to the steward,

"I will show myself in."

The young steward frowned. "But, Sir..."

"Thank you; I do not require an introduction." Melbourne's voice was more firm then, and the steward finally stepped aside. Melbourne sighed and opened the door to the parlour, and Victoria flew to her feet from the piano bench. Her face was immediately painted with a wide and jovial grin.

"Lord M! I had begun to think you'd forgotten me entirely!"

He scoffed. "No, Ma'am. The vote took a bit longer than I'd thought."

"Was it something very important?" Victoria walked around her piano bench, and Melbourne hurried to kneel and kiss her hand. When he stood, he shrugged and admitted,

"It was just a bill on the industry of weaving. Setting wool price caps. But the Tories do like a good fight, even over something so mundane as that. I finally convinced Sir Robert Peel that we were all wasting one another's time, and we voted."

"Oh. Well. I am glad you've come. You're something of a connoisseur of Mozart, aren't you? You can sit and mock the way I'm butchering his wonderful sonata."

"I think it sounded lovely, Ma'am," Melbourne said, and when she looked confused, he told her, "I did not want to disturb you, so I listened from the corridor. It was lovely."

Victoria's cheeks went a little pink, but she smiled serenely and murmured, "Surely you could not hear properly from out there. Will you sit beside me whilst I play it with fewer mistakes this time?"

"Of course, Ma'am." Melbourne waited for her to sit at her piano bench, and then he sank onto the chair nearby. She began to play again, nibbling her lip every now and then with determination as she pushed through some of the more complicated chords. The sight of that, of her teeth on her lip, made his skin tingle oddly. His eyes went down to her fingers, watching them move, entranced by the way her knuckles bent and flexed. Suddenly he remembered the feel of her gloved hands on his cheeks when she'd kissed him, and he shut his eyes.

"Was it as bad as all that?" Victoria sounded worried, and Melbourne opened his eyes as he realised she'd finished playing. He shook his head.

"No, Ma'am. It was rapturous. I was taken away a little by it is all."

"Oh." She reached for his hand then, leaning a bit off the piano bench to do so. He caught her hand in his, surprised by the way she stroked her fingers over his palm a little. He was dizzy then, and he felt something else that put a pit in his stomach, and he let out a frustrated little sound. He should pull his hand away, he thought. He should tell her that she was unwise and foolish to flirt with her prime minister like this, that is was a most undignified way for her to behave. Instead he pulled his thumb back and forth over hers and whispered,

"I think... I should go."

"Please don't." Her voice was barely audible, and Melbourne had no reply. He let her keep touching him, the fingers that had just kissed the piano now dragging over his rough knuckles. He finally managed to look at her, expecting to see wide-eyed fear in her face. Instead he saw unmistakable hunger, want flashing through her blue eyes, and he huffed a little breath. He needed something to grasp onto now, anything that would put a stop to this unexpected nonsense.

"Do you know, Ma'am... I am so very grateful to you," he said, and for a moment she looked almost happy. But he was about to stomp upon her heart, so he looked away and said, "I had a daughter for the briefest moment in time. So brief I never got to know her, really. And I had a son, Augustus. His life was very troubled, but he was very dear to me, and I miss him terribly. I miss the feeling of comforting him in the darkness, of guiding his steps. And so I am profoundly grateful to you, Your Majesty, for letting me feel that way once more. It is very nearly as though I've been given fatherhood all over again."

"Fatherhood." Victoria repeated the word and let her hand fall from his, sitting up straighter on her piano bench. Melbourne just nodded, still not looking at her. She cleared her throat softly and asked, "And so I am like a daughter to you, Lord Melbourne?"

"You are my queen, before and above anything else, Ma'am, and I think I would do well to remember that better at times." He stared at a little spot on the wallpaper, and he heard Victoria's breath shake as though she were about to cry.

"It is a shame the Tsar will not let the Grand Duke wed the British sovereign," she said abruptly. "I find I very much like his company. In fact, he had asked if I might ride out again with him this afternoon."

"Oh. You should do so, Ma'am," Melbourne nodded. "I am glad you do not find him too forward, that he makes you happy in the time you spend with him."

"Yes. I do not suppose you would want to join us. Perhaps you ought to leave, after all." Victoria sounded utterly broken then, and Melbourne just stared at the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victoria stand, and he flew to his feet. He bowed his head and said stiffly,

"I do hope you enjoy your ride, Your Majesty."

"Good day, Lord Melbourne," she replied. He backed from the room, and as he did, she sat back down at the piano and began angrily hammering out a thudding fugue by Bach.

* * *

 _Lord M,_

 _I apologise if I have offended you in some way as to wound your impression of me as a queen or as a woman. I am even more sorry if I have somehow injured the friendship that I treasure so -_

Victoria stared at the letter on the desk before her, and, without waiting for the ink to dry, tore it up. It was her fifth attempt at writing him, and she had yet to find a satisfactory way of screaming onto the page what she felt in her soul.

Her heart was broken, and she'd spent all night alternating between tears and blank stares through a windowpane. It was not as though she could help adoring him. Perhaps, she'd thought briefly, it was as he'd said. He was like a father to her. He was her comfort and her friend. That was why she cared so deeply for him.

But there had been a reason why she'd kissed him the night of the coronation ball. The alcohol had stripped off the restraints she'd always worn around him, but her desire had been genuine. She had wanted him then, and she wanted him now. She was frustrated by the fact that she did not even really know what she wanted. Men touched women. They did other things, too, but Victoria knew so little of the intricacies of that. She knew she wanted his hands on her. She knew she wanted to hear him, just once, whisper her name in a quiet room.

Now she sat at her desk, having finished with her boxes, and she desperately tried to write to him. Finally she flew up from her desk, startling poor Dash, who had been sleeping beside her foot. Victoria rushed across the room and flung open the door, and the steward on the other side looked even more alarmed than Dash.

"I need a message sent to Dover House at once," Victoria said simply. "Tell the Prime Minister to come at his earliest convenience."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The steward bowed low and hurried off, and Victoria went in search of her ladies. They had tea and talked fashion, but Victoria found herself only occasionally chiming into the conversation as she stared at the window.

"What does Your Majesty think of the sleeves for this autumn?" Harriet Sutherland, who was particularly fashionable, looked anxiously at Victoria, and she sighed.

"I suppose we shall have more ball gowns that bare our shoulders," Victoria said rather morosely. "We shall have to make up for it with better necklaces."

The others laughed a little and kept talking, and Victoria stayed silent after that. A steward eventually came into the room, bowed low, and held out a small silver platter to Victoria.

"Your Majesty. A message, just come from Dover House, Ma'am."

"Thank you." Victoria took the letter off the tray and recognised Melbourne's writing on the outside - _H.M. The Queen._ She broke the seal on the letter as her ladies pretended to still be interested in their conversation, and she unfolded the small paper and read,

 _To Her Majesty Queen Victoria -_

 _The Prime Minister regrets that he is most thoroughly consumed with pressing matters of State today and will be unable to come to Buckingham Palace until tomorrow at the earliest. He sends his most sorrowful regret for his lack of timely attendance but sends all sincere intention of loyal service to his Sovereign._

 _\- William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne_

It was so formal. He'd never, ever communicated with her like this. This wasn't even like the sort of letter a father might send a daughter, even if that was the game he was playing with her.

"Your Majesty, are you quite all right?"

Victoria looked up to see all her ladies staring at her, and she felt the sear of tears in her eyes. She sniffed a little and stood, sending her ladies flying to her feet. She wordlessly rushed over to the desk in the corner and pulled out a piece of paper, dipping her pen so quickly into the ink that a little spattered on the wood. She wrote in the neatest script she could,

 _Her Majesty the Queen commands that His Lordship the Prime Minister attend to Buckingham Palace immediately, without further excuse for delay. - Victoria R._

She blew quickly on the ink and folded it up, not bothering to seal it. Her ladies watched her as she rushed back across the room and opened the door, and she shoved the folded letter into the hands of the steward outside.

"This must go to Dover House at once on the fastest horse we've got," she said simply. The steward nodded frantically, and Victoria took a steadying breath as she turned back to her ladies and said, "Have we spoken yet of bonnets?"

* * *

"Lord Melbourne."

Victoria looked up from her book as Melbourne was shown into her library. He'd taken his time in coming. He'd probably come in a carriage, when he was perfectly capable of arriving much more quickly on horseback. That irritated her. Victoria set her book down and stood, and as soon as she approached him, Melbourne genuflected and kissed her hand. He released it at once, rising and averting his eyes from her.

"This is extraordinarily silly," Victoria said without pretense. "You sending me a letter worded as though we'd never met, refusing to come, pretending you had too much work."

"I really was actually rather busy, Ma'am," he said quietly, and she scoffed.

"More legislation over wool pricing?" When he did not reply, she gulped and said, "I realise, Lord M, that I made my girlish infatuation entirely too obvious. I have not yet perfected the art of being subtle, and I am still unfamiliar with the obligation to suppress my own inclinations. And you have made your lack of reciprocation for those inclinations very obvious, too."

He frowned deeply then, his green eyes flashing as they turned on her at last. He shook his head just a little, and he repeated,

"Lack of reciprocation."

"Yes. I know very well that you view me as nothing more than a child. You made that very plain. But we can still be friends, I think. I can not bear the idea of losing your friendship just because I... because you..."

"It was very much the opposite of... of a lack of reciprocation, Ma'am," Melbourne said, and Victoria blinked a few times in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I am your prime minister. You are my queen. I am not meant to..."

He shut his eyes then and let out a very long sigh, and, with his eyes still shut, he reached for Victoria. He put his hands on either side of her face, his fingers shaking against her cheeks and then tightening a little. Victoria thought she might faint, and she struggled through her corseting to take a sufficiently deep breath. She settled for the shallow little pants that trembled into the air between them. Finally Melbourne opened his eyes and informed her,

"I do not see you anything like a daughter, I'm afraid. It would be far easier if I did, but I do not."

Victoria reached up and covered his hands with his, taking a half step toward him. "How do you see me, Lord M?"

He looked like he was in pain then, as if someone had jabbed something sharp into his side. He leaned forward a little, winced and pulled back, and whispered,

"Forgive me, please."

Victoria somehow summoned the breath to ask, "Forgive you for what?"

In response, he quickly closed the gap between them. His kiss was far more careful than hers had been. She'd smashed her mouth drunkenly against his, but he was so much more meticulous. His lips grazed hers, his breath warm against her mouth. His hands tightened again, sliding back against her hair. One of his hands cradled the base of her neck, holding her just so as he pressed his lips to hers again. He did it one more time, more confidently now, and Victoria whimpered softly, wanting so much more. Everything came alive inside of her, things that she hadn't even known could be awakened. She felt like she'd been lit on fire, like he was burning her with his kiss. Her hands flew to the front of his coat, pawing a little at him and then clutching the material.

He kissed her more deeply then, and suddenly she felt the wet of his tongue drag over her bottom lip. She made another noise of desperation, and his hand went to the small of her back to pull her more tightly against his body. He had to bend to kiss her, and she had to lean up, and suddenly it seemed like she was only being kept alive by her Lord M. His tongue, carefully exploring her unpractised mouth, was far more intoxicating than the Champagne had been. His arm around her was the only thing keeping her standing.

And then he started to fade away, to pull back from the slow yet urgent kissing, and she was left entirely breathless where she stood. Melbourne stepped back a bit, one of his hands drifting to cover the front of his breeches. He shut his eyes and took a few shallow breaths, and then he told her,

"I wanted to come when you sent for me, Ma'am, but I knew I'd do that. And so I wrote you in the most distant language I could, trying to put space where I thought it needed to be. Because I knew I would do that... _that_... and I was afraid of it."

Victoria just stared at him, seeing for the first time the vulnerability in the stalwart, almost statue-like figure she'd come to know. He had cracks in him, and she'd put at least a few of them there. She licked her bottom lip, tasting him on her skin, and she said,

"It is nearly four now. Will you stay for dinner?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you." Melbourne stared at the floor, seeming a little overwhelmed. He finally looked up, bowed his head, and told her, "I shall leave you to your reading for now."

"All right." She watched him go, watched the door shut behind him, and she sat slowly, feeling her legs wobble beneath her. She picked up her book and stared at it, not reading a word, remembering the way his hands and lips had felt upon her and desperately wanting more.

 **Author's Note: Poor Lord M. She wants him so badly and he knows she's forbidden fruit. What's a smitten mentor to do? Thanks for reading. PLEASE leave a quick comment if you have a moment. I really do value the feedback. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

"William."

"Emma." He turned around at the sound of Emma Portman's voice, but his pleasant little smile disappeared when he saw the look of concern upon her face. She approached him and looked around, ensuring the corridor was empty, and she said gently,

"William, you have long been a good friend to my husband and to myself. You know I would not broach this at all unless I were genuinely worried for you."

Melbourne frowned and shifted on his feet. "What's the matter, Emma?"

Her eyes warmed and then went sad. "The way you were looking at her, William, and the way she was looking back. For nearly the entire meal, you stared at one another. You talked almost exclusively to one another. I noticed. Everyone noticed. Everyone saw the same thing I did, William."

He scoffed a little, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, and he said carefully, "I certainly meant no impropriety."

"But it was there just the same, I think." Emma sighed and shook her head. "Believe me. I have seen the way she pines for you when you're a few hours later to the palace than expected. But you must quash this before it goes anywhere, for both your sakes. You have endured more than enough scandal, William, and she is the Queen."

"So she is, and she is waiting for me," Melbourne said, glancing rather anxiously over his shoulder. He nodded and said more genuinely, "Thank you, Emma. I shall be... more cautious."

"Goodnight, William." She gave him a sad little smile and turned to go, probably off to join her husband, who had been invited to dinner tonight. Melbourne adjusted his coat and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall, thinking again that he was much too old to be chasing after his lovely young queen. But he walked just the same to the drawing room where he knew she was waiting for him. He shooed the steward aside at the door and let himself in, and Victoria looked up from the easel she'd been setting up. She smiled and held her hand out, and Melbourne dipped to a knee and kissed her glove.

"I will do much better this time, Lord M. I promise." She looked very playful then as she sank into her wicker chair and pulled off her gloves. They'd agreed at dinner that she would try again to draw him, having been frustrated by her last effort. Now Melbourne sat on the divan and decided that he wasn't going to let Emma Portman or anyone else ruin this - these times he had alone with her. He would be more judicious when they were in the presence of others, but here he would not stifle the happiness he found in her company.

"I shall sit very still for you, Ma'am," he teased her. "How about I sit like this so that it's more dramatic and dignified?"

He turned his head to the side and tipped his chin up imperiously, and he couldn't help cracking a smile as Victoria giggled beside him.

"But I'm even worse at profiles than at faces straight on," she complained.

"It would seem, then, that you need more practise," he said, and he tipped his chin up a little more.

"Oh, very well. Let it be your neck to be sore, then."

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Victoria picked up her pencil and studied the shape of him. She still had on a diamond tiara, the one she'd worn to dinner, and it glittered in the candlelight. Melbourne turned his eyes back to the wall, wondering if the two of them were simply going to pretend he hadn't kissed her earlier. For now, she seemed very happy, and he felt happy, so he just waited as she drew.

"I feel as though I'm drawing a Roman Emperor," Victoria mused, and Melbourne laughed a little.

"I would have done a terrible job administering Rome," he said. "Would have been worse than Nero."

"You do a fine job administering England," she said, and he flicked his eyes to her.

"No, Ma'am. That's your job."

"It is both of us, isn't it?" She paused in drawing and smiled a little at him. "And you help me so very much. I do not often enough express my gratitude for your guidance, Lord M."

She put her pencil back to the paper, and Melbourne swallowed hard. "I only hope, Ma'am, that any guidance I have given you has been to your benefit. I only wish for your success."

"I know," she said gently. He felt his heart accelerate a little then, and he licked his bottom lip as nerves began to wash over him.

"Emma Portman scolded me for staring at you during dinner," he said. "I apologise if I was obvious in turning too much of my attention toward you."

"Oh, Lord M. You could give me all of your attention and I'd still demand more." Victoria kept sketching, and Melbourne smirked.

"Stop that," she reprimanded him, and he frowned.

"Stop what, Ma'am?"

"You had your mouth all serious, and then you smiled a little, and it makes your whole face look different. You must look very solemn again, Lord M."

"Oh. Right." He steadied his mouth, resisting the urge to let the corners of his lips turn up. She made him smile; he could not help himself.

"There is a small party tomorrow," she noted. "Just a little dancing after dinner, at the request of the Grand Duke. He does so like dancing."

Melbourne felt an unexpected wrench of indignation then, and he squared his jaw as he said, "Yes. He seemed to quite like putting his hands all over you at your coronation ball, Ma'am."

"Was he as crude as I remember? I'd thought perhaps the Champagne had dulled the memory a little. He put his hands on my..."

"Yes, I saw," Melbourne said at the wall. "That's why I sent Lord Alfred to drag him away, and that's why I asked you to dance."

"I thought you asked me to dance because you wanted to dance with me," Victoria murmured as her pencil scratched on the paper. Melbourne blinked.

"Well, that too."

There was more quiet then, until finally Victoria blew on her paper and asked,

"You will be there tomorrow? For the dancing?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Ma'am," he said. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she bent over the page and seemed to do a little shading. She blew on the paper again and then set her pencil down, and she said in a voice of warning,

"If you laugh at me, I shall be incurably cross."

"Oh, you've finished, Ma'am? Good; I think my neck has a crick." He smiled warmly at her as she came to sit beside him, the paper held protectively against her chest. She pursed her lips and hesitated, and then she turned the paper round and set it on his thigh. He realised instantly that he should feel very guilty for kissing her, that he should think Emma Portman had been entirely right. But all he could focus on was the rather adorable way she'd captured the angle of his nose and botched his eyes again. He picked up the paper and said kindly,

"This is a masterpiece, Your Majesty. It belongs in a gallery."

"You are mocking me!" She swatted a little at his arm, which made him tingle oddly, and he shook his head vehemently.

"No. It's quite good, Ma'am. Particularly for an artist still perfecting her work in profiles."

"Well, I had a handsome subject." Her cheeks went a little pink then, and Melbourne found himself sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

"May I keep it?" He glanced down to the paper in his hands, and Victoria nodded.

"Yes. Of course you can."

"But you must sign it, Ma'am," he said, reaching for her easel. He picked up her pencil and carefully put it in her hand, letting his fingers run over hers. She stared down at the pencil, or perhaps at their hands, and then she quickly signed _Victoria R_ in the bottom right corner of the paper. She fiddled with the pencil and stared at her drawing as she asked blankly,

"Before you go, will you kiss me goodnight?"

"I should not," he said truthfully. He huffed out a breath and carefully folded the drawing, tucking it into the pocket of his coat. He met Victoria's eyes and shook his head, and he admitted, "Emma was right; I stared entirely too much at you at dinner. It was inappropriate and... rude. I'm sorry."

Victoria frowned. "You regret kissing me."

"No, Ma'am. I do not. But I meant what I said. I only wish for your success. I do not mean to become a barrier to that success."

Victoria seemed a bit sad then, and it pained him to see her earlier happiness so thoroughly dissolved. Just minutes earlier, they'd been laughing, joking with one another. Melbourne let out a frustrated sigh and reached to cradle Victoria's jaw in his hand. He could not stop himself then from leaning down and touching his lips to hers, and when she sighed against his mouth, a string inside of him snapped.

He found himself kissing her much too enthusiastically then, stroking at her cheek and intensifying the kiss until he was pulling at her lip with his teeth. She shocked him then - she moaned. She let out a real little moan of desire, and Melbourne wrenched his mouth from hers.

"Oh, I am so frustrated," she whispered breathlessly. "I quite like your kisses, Lord M, but I find myself knowing there is something else that I want. Yet, I have precisely no idea what that is."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "And this is why... well, it is one of probably a hundred reasons why I ought not to have..."

"What is it that I am wanting, Lord M?" Victoria asked desperately. He stared into her wide blue eyes and could envision himself explaining sex to her, explaining all the things his hands and mouth and other parts would do if he were allowed. But he wasn't allowed; neither of them were. He gulped hard and said,

"Tomorrow night. Dancing. I look forward to the dancing. Will you save a place on your card for me, please?"

She nodded, her lips a little parted. "I would save you every dance if I could."

He smiled a bit and reached for her hand, bringing her knuckles up to his lips and kissing them carefully. He stared right into her eyes as he did it, and he watched her chest stop heaving for a moment as she seemed to have her breath taken away entirely.

"Goodnight, Lord M," she whispered after a very long time.

He squeezed at her fingers and nodded as he rose. "Goodnight, Ma'am."

 **Author's Note: The next chapter is the beautiful trope of a Vicbourne waltz, so I'm going to go ahead and give that one of the word count it deserves. Haha. In the meantime, thanks for reading and please do leave a quick message if you get a chance.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Drina, you look very beautiful tonight." The Duchess of Kent reached down to adjust her daughter's tiara, and Victoria said as kindly as she could,

"Thank you, Mama."

"I only wish our dear Lady Flora were here to dance," the Duchess said wistfully, and Victoria's stomach turned a little.

"I was sorry to hear today that she is doing so poorly."

"She is not taking food, Sir John says. I'm afraid we shall lose our dear Lady Flora soon. What a tragedy that you felt compelled to shame her so terribly in her time of distress." The Duchess gave Victoria a very significant look, and Victoria's mouth fell open.

"I meant her no harm!"

The Duchess scoffed. "Drina. You kept her from your coronation and subjected her to humiliating treatment by your own physician because you made a very wrong assumption."

"I will not argue this here with you, Mama. I made a mistake; why must you rub salt in the wound?" Victoria fingered her dance card anxiously, and the Duchess sniffed.

"You are not the one with wounds, Drina."

"You have our permission to the enter the party," Victoria said quickly, and the Duchess gave her a biting glare as she curtsied and walked past Victoria.

She waited a long moment and then finally nodded to the steward at the door, who opened the way and called,

"Her Majesty the Queen!"

The two dozen or so guests who had gathered - mostly Victoria's ladies and their husbands, some family, and the Grand Duke - bowed and curtsied as Victoria swept into the ballroom. She'd worn emerald green with diamonds, and she only hoped that Melbourne found her pretty tonight. He was standing with Emma Portman and her husband talking, and the moment she met his eyes, he looked down into his glass of wine.

"Most Majestic Victoria." Grand Duke Alexander walked up with a confident smirk on his face, and he bowed with such showmanship that Victoria almost rolled her eyes. He stood and tipped his head condescendingly as he said, "I am the guest of honour at this party, no? Surely that entitles me to your first dance."

"You do seem to take whatever you're entitled to having, Alexander," Victoria said lightly. She had meant to tease him, but a sour little look crossed his face. His eyes went for a moment to where Melbourne stood facing Emma Portman, and then he extended his hand to Victoria.

"I am leaving soon," he reminded her. "I beg you to give me good memories of England."

"I shall do my best," Victoria huffed. She let him pull her out to the dance floor. Fortunately, it was a quadrille, and so he had limited opportunities to put his hands upon her. But every time he glided past Victoria, he slid his hand across her back and once glided his fingers around her ribcage. She shot him a look, hoping he would perceive her dissatisfaction, but he seemed unswayed.

"You are so very small," he noted rudely halfway through the dance. "I must hold my hand so low."

"Well, I do apologise," Victoria snapped. She whirled around and asked him frankly, "When do you leave?"

"I sail in three weeks," the Grand Duke said smoothly, and Victoria raised her eyebrows.

"And already we are having parties."

"We shall have to have another before I leave," the Grand Duke said, and Victoria put her palm to his as they slowly turned. She finished the dance with him, curtsying quite stiffly as he descended into a flourish of a bow.

"Thank you for the dance," he said, coming up to her and reaching for her gloved hand. He kissed her fingers, much too slowly, and Victoria found herself pulling her hand away a bit.

"You are such a fine dancer, Sir. I wonder with whom else you will dance tonight."

"So many ladies," he said. "So many choices. I shall leave you to your Prime Minister; he is glaring at me most anxiously."

Victoria glanced over to Melbourne, who immediately looked away. The Grand Duke snorted a little laugh, and Victoria felt her face flush hot. She just nodded and murmured,

"Enjoy your evening, Your Imperial Highness."

"Majesty." He bowed again and stalked off, walking right up to one of Victoria's unmarried ladies. Victoria took a glass of Champagne from a passing tray and sipped at it, setting it back down once she'd wet her mouth. When she looked up, Melbourne was standing there, and he bowed his head and said quietly,

"Your Majesty."

"The Grand Duke seems to have cooled immensely toward me," she said matter-of-factly. "I think it because I was rude to him last night at dinner. I ignored him. And then I was rude to him again tonight. I do not blame him for being angry."

"I am made to understand that he received a message from Petersburg, Ma'am," Melbourne said. "Lord Portman says the Tsar wrote to order his son back to Russia. This visit is seen as frivolity."

"Oh." Victoria sighed. "That's rather a relief, actually. I thought perhaps I'd managed to make everyone angry with me."

A little line formed between Melbourne's eyebrows, and his lips turned down. The orchestra started up a waltz, and he held out his hand and asked,

"May I have the honour, Ma'am?"

"Yes, please." Victoria walked back out with him to the dance floor, and she sucked in air when his right hand settled in the centre of her back. He pulled her right hand up and tipped his head a little as they began to move. He was so smooth, so elegant in his motions, and he guided her so steadily that Victoria hardly had to do any moving of her own.

"Who's angry with you?" He still looked worried, and Victoria huffed,

"My mother. She is always angry with me, I think. She has been angry with me for eighteen years, possibly even longer."

Melbourne smiled sadly, and it did not reach his green eyes. He did not ask why the Duchess was cross. He did not need to. He would know that it was Flora Hastings. Victoria swallowed hard and said,

"She is not eating. Lady Flora. What if she were to die, Lord M?"

"Well... her condition seems quite serious, Ma'am. I think it may be that she does die. I pray she does not. It is something for which you ought to be prepared."

She wrenched her eyes shut. "You told me to ignore my suspicions. I did not listen to you."

"I have been wrong so very many times in my life, Ma'am," he said, squeezing at her hand a little. "Just because you chose not to heed me one of the few times I was right..."

"Please, may we discuss something different? I fear there is nothing I can do for Lady Flora tonight, and I shall be noticeably dour if we do not change the subject of conversation," Victoria said. She let Melbourne move them a little, for they'd drifted near another dancing pair. She stared up into his eyes, silently pleading with him.

"It rained today," Melbourne said, and Victoria scoffed a little laugh.

"Yes. I noticed."

"I was riding from the House and got caught up in it," Melbourne said. "I was soaked through so badly I swear my clothes weighed as much as my horse did."

She smiled at the thought of that, at the idea of him drenched from the rain. She tightened her hand on her shoulder and observed,

"You seem to have dried yourself off adequately."

"Yes. It was nothing a good warm cup of tea and a fireplace couldn't solve," Melbourne said. "How did you spend the rainy day, Ma'am?"

"My despatch box seemed to take an eternity this morning," she said. "I spent much of my day giving Royal Assent. I noticed a particular document - a new law about capped wool prices."

Melbourne nodded. "Well, thank you for putting up less of a fight on that than the Tories did."

Victoria just stared up at him then, and the rest of the room seemed to melt away like candle wax. Suddenly all she could see was him, the face she'd studied whilst she'd drawn him. All she could feel were his hands upon her. All she could hear was her own heart, loud in her ears. He stared right back down at her, and Victoria wished with all her might that the party could be over.

She began to feel it again, that ache somewhere deep inside her for something she could not identify. The night before, her fingers had crept between her legs on instinct. She'd thought of Melbourne and then had felt the need to touch herself there. But she'd grown frightened at the way it had felt, the way her ears had rung and her breath had quickened. She'd been alarmed by the way she'd gone slick and wet there. Now she stared up at Melbourne and finally found it in herself to ask him,

"Will you stay after the party's over?"

"I fear that would be perceived incorrectly, Ma'am," Melbourne said carefully. "People might assume..."

He stopped then, because they both knew what people would assume. Those people would not have been entirely wrong. Victoria nodded once and reluctantly stepped away from Melbourne as the song ended. People applauded the waltz, and she whispered,

"I shall save the last dance on my card for you, Lord M."

"Oh, Your Majesty." He took a half step away from her and shook his head. "There are so many gentlemen who will want to dance with their queen. I am grateful for the one you've given me."

He bowed his head politely and stepped away, plucking a glass from a tray and bringing it immediately to his lips.

* * *

"Lord M."

He whirled round in the corridor, having left the party a little early after downing three glasses of wine in quick succession. He'd made a mistake in doing that, he knew. He was tipsy. So he was leaving before he could make a fool of himself, or worse yet, make a fool of her. But here she was, her skirts in her hands as she rushed down the red carpeting toward him.

"I looked for you and Lehzen said you'd gone. Why are you leaving?"

Melbourne tried not to breathe in the scent of rose upon her as she approached him.

"I am leaving, Ma'am, because I did a poor job tempering myself with wine."

She frowned. "You do not seem drunk."

"I thought would leave before I got to that point, Your Majesty."

Victoria knitted her hands together before her. "I am tired of dancing, and even more tired of making conversation. Will you stay just a little while with me?"

He shook his head. "No, Ma'am; I think I ought to -"

"Lord Melbourne," she said primly, "I had a few documents in my despatch box this morning that confused me, and I wonder if you will stay to discuss them. As my prime minister, of course."

"Of course," he said, squaring his jaw. He shut his eyes and nodded, silently following her down the corridor and away from the party. They rounded a corner, and he mumbled,

"It will be a most conspicuous absence, the pair of us gone at once. People will talk."

"People talk about absolutely everything," Victoria insisted. She walked with a purpose through the snaking corridors until she reached a small reading room. She opened the door herself, for this was a quiet and unmanned part of the palace, and he followed her inside. He frowned at her choice of room and noted,

"There is only one sconce lit in here, Ma'am."

"I do not require a good deal of light, Lord M. I have no intention of reading." She shut the door behind him and seemed completely breathless as she glared up at him. "Tell me what it is that I am wanting from you."

He was dizzy then, from the drink and from her, and he said helplessly, "I have no way of knowing what you want, Ma'am; I am not inside your mind."

She took a step toward him, and he resisted the terrified urge to back away from her. She put her hands up to his chest and he let her do it. He let her press her palms against his formal shirt; he let the heat of her skin soak through the fabric onto his own. Victoria's hair looked very pretty, he thought distantly. Her bared neck and shoulders looked pretty, too, and he brought his knuckles up to stroke at her collarbone. She shut her eyes and shivered where she stood, and she whispered,

"Like that."

"Like what, Ma'am?" His voice cracked a little, and he wished all of a sudden that he'd controlled himself in drinking so much wine. But this intoxication, the one overwhelming him now, had far more to do with roses and soft skin than with wine. Victoria's fingers clenched a little on his chest, and she said quietly,

"Last night, I lay in my bed and thought of you and I felt the same thing I feel now. It is like a fire in my veins, as though my blood has been set to boiling. It is a tingle, a throb, as though I've had a great weight lifted away and have been left buzzing. I feel like my heart is going to burst, like it will race its way straight from my chest. I feel my breath caught up somewhere in my throat, which has gone tight, and I... I feel something between my legs that I -"

"No, you must stop now," Melbourne said, much too aggressively. Her eyes went wide at the way he'd snapped at her. He tried to tear his hand from her collarbone, but instead he found himself rubbing his palm down over her bare arm and snaring his fingers with hers. He shook his head wildly and told her, "It is not at all unnatural, what you describe. In fact, it is the most natural thing in all the world. But what you want... I can not give you."

"At least tell me what it is," Victoria pleaded. "My body and mind are screaming for something. I must know what I am screaming for."

Melbourne struggled to suck air through his clenched teeth, and he finally pulled her hand up to the front of his breeches. He let her feel the way he'd gone hard here, touching her flesh and hearing her talk of her arousal. She looked utterly scandalised, but she did not pull her hand away, and he seethed down at her,

"That is what you want. But you may not have it, because I may not give it to you. Do you understand, Ma'am?"

"No, I do not," she said. She moved her hand a little, and Melbourne squirmed, hissing in agony. She seemed frightened then, and she asked,

"Are you all right, Lord M?"

"Please. I must go back to Dover House at once," he said, yanking her hand away from him and releasing her fingers. He staggered backward a few steps, and Victoria began to silently cry. She looked so lovely standing there in her emerald gown with her diamond tiara, and it wounded him to see her pretty blue eyes well up.

"I've made you angry," she guessed, and he shook his head, finding a little well of calm within himself and trying to spread it through his bloodstream. He took a few steadying breaths, knowing that she needed him to be her teacher now more than ever. He glanced around the shadowy room, with its shelves of books and its carefully arranged furniture and the clock that was ticking very loudly from the mantle. He dug his teeth into his lip and stared at the clock as he said in the steadiest voice he could muster,

"When a man and woman feel affection for one another, or simple attraction toward one another, the body responds just as strongly as the mind. You are feeling desire, in its most raw and visceral and demanding form. But just because it feels insistent, Ma'am, does not mean you can answer it. We have already far exceeded the physical limits of propriety, you and I."

"And so... what I felt in your breeches... was that your desire?" Victoria asked quietly, and Melbourne nodded toward the clock.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She was quiet then, and he knew she was intelligent enough to start putting pieces together. She had at least some working knowledge of anatomy, surely, and she would know that if he'd gone rigid and she was aching between her legs, those were the bits meant to fit together. But he clarified again,

"It could never happen, Ma'am... that target that the body craves. You will experience that with your husband alone."

"And if I never marry?" Victoria whispered. Melbourne turned his face back toward her and found the courage to close the gap between them. He took her face in his hands, as gently as if her skin were fragile eggshell, and he rubbed his thumbs carefully beneath her eyes. He frowned a little as she stared up at him, and he murmured,

"Do you know my favourite thing in the world, Ma'am? I do not suppose I could decide... between riding out with you, dancing with you, talking with you, kissing you. What a very difficult decision. I suppose you are favourite thing in all the world, Ma'am. You, in your very being."

"Lord M..." She looked awed, and he bent to brush his lips carefully against hers. He resisted the temptation to deepen the kiss, and instead he touched his lips to her cheekbones and then her forehead.

"I am going back to Dover House, Ma'am," he said quietly. "I think perhaps you might want to go wish your guests goodnight."

 **Author's Note: Whew! Things almost got a little out of hand there! And Lord M to the rescue with a little bit of sex ed for poor desperate Victoria. :} I'm super grateful for those reading this story and would love your feedback. Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

Victoria pulled a paper from her despatch box and tried to focus on it. By-laws in Sunderland. The handling of refuse, regulations for house construction. It had passed through the House of Lords and needed her signature. She didn't finish reading it; it was far too dull to hold her attention. If the Lords had passed it, she thought, then surely the by-laws on refuse were amenable. She signed her name at the bottom of the page and set the paper aside. It was her last one of the day, and as she stacked the papers back into the despatch box, knowing the Page would come for them, she rose and said quietly,

"Come on, Dash."

The spaniel followed her as she made her way down the corridor. She peeked into one of the drawing rooms, and Harriet Sutherland instantly rose. Emma Portman followed suit, along with Maria Phipps and Louisa Lambton. They all curtsied, but Victoria stayed in the doorway and said,

"I am going for a walk."

Harriet and Emma looked at one another, and Emma asked,

"Shall we accompany you, Your Majesty?"

"No. Thank you. I need to go alone," she said. A knowing look came over Emma Portman's eye, but she nodded.

"Enjoy the fine weather, Ma'am."

"Thank you. Come, Dash." Victoria turned to go, stopping off in her dressing room to get a bonnet and some crocheted gloves. She led Dash down the great staircase that led out to the glass-lined wall against the gardens. A steward opened the door and bowed, and it was all Victoria could do to nod at him as she passed. She made her way out onto the expanse of lawn, picking up a little rubber ball she'd left out a few days earlier. She tossed it for Dash and he ran after it, tearing across the grass and then pausing to relieve himself. Victoria paced a little, waiting for Dash to bring her the ball back. She repeated this cycle seven or eight times, gradually creeping further out onto the lawn until she had drifted far from the palace.

"Your Majesty?"

She turned round at the sound of his voice, surprised to see him walking quickly toward her in an elegant riding ensemble. He bowed his head and took her hand when he stepped up to her, and as he kissed her gloved fingers, she asked him,

"What are you doing here, Lord M? Not that I am displeased to see you, but I'd thought you had meetings all day."

"Well, I was meant to spend the day in discussion with Sir Thomas Rice, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, but it seems the matter at hand is already resolved. He means to go back to Ireland; he has a cause to pursue with the bank there, and... well, in any case, Ma'am, I have rather a bold question to ask."

Victoria was surprised, and she shrugged. "Ask it."

"I know you do not much care for Windsor," Melbourne said, "but I wonder if you might not like... just a short respite from Buckingham Palace. You have been so very busy, Ma'am."

He seemed awfully nervous, and suddenly Victoria understood. He had his own apartment at Windsor; she'd given it to him just before her coronation. He wanted to go there so that they could spend more time without the heavy cloak of court gossip. She blinked and said,

"I would have to take a few of my ladies. Harriet and Emma, perhaps. Lehzen will be there, of course."

"And of course Dash must come," Melbourne said, too lightly. His throat bobbed, and Victoria asked sceptically,

"You will not be derelict of duty, Lord Melbourne, in coming to Windsor for a few days?"

"Well, I have not yet been invited, Ma'am," he pointed out, "but I find my schedule rather open for the next week or so."

"Then we shall go at once," she nodded. "Have your trunks packed at Dover House, and we shall ride to Windsor from here."

Melbourne looked for a moment as though he were in a bit of disbelief, and she realised he'd doubted himself in proposing this. But it had been three days since she'd seen him at the party, since she'd touched him and kissed him, and she found herself saying,

"Windsor is not so very bad, I think. I am looking forward to it. What an excellent suggestion, Lord M."

* * *

"I ought to take my own carriage," Melbourne said as the door was shut by the footman. He was taken back, suddenly, to the night he'd felt Victoria's palpable absence opposite him in his own carriage. Now she felt awfully close, and he thought they should at least take an open landau.

"It is only a three hour ride," Victoria pointed out. "Why should we drag out the caravan?"

"It will look as though we are going... together... to Windsor, Ma'am," Melbourne said delicately, staring out the window as though a thousand eyes would be glaring back at him.

"But we are going together to Windsor," Victoria said innocently. Melbourne gave her a weighty look.

"I am too often tempted to spit upon propriety in your presence, Ma'am, and I think we are taunting the fates. More importantly, we are taunting society. There will be talk."

"Then why did you suggest we go to Windsor?" Victoria demanded, and Melbourne realised he lacked a good answer for that. He had been asked a question directly by his queen, but he did not reply. Instead he just put his top hat beside him on the carriage bench, and he glanced out the glass as the carriage started to move. He slowly pulled the curtains until they were closed in by translucent white light. At least he would take away the ability of anyone outside to pry at the queen under these circumstances.

"I ought to have taken my own carriage," he said again, thinking he'd been very mistaken in dreaming up this whirlwind trip, "and you ought to be riding with Emma Portman and Harriet Sutherland."

"I am very glad to be in this carriage with you Lord M," Victoria said firmly. She smelled like roses, even in here, and he shut his eyes a little against the swell of it in the air.

"I do so prefer the gardens at Windsor, at least," she said, "even if the place is old and dreary. We must walk every day in the gardens."

"Yes, Ma'am," he murmured. He squeezed at his knees then, trying not to look at her. But all he could think of was the way her hands had felt on his chest, warm through his shirt. All he could taste suddenly was the sweetness on her lips, the way her tongue had curled hesitantly into his mouth. He tried desperately to rid himself of all that, because he felt a stirring in his breeches, and he whispered,

"How good it is that it is a sunny day riding out there."

"Lord M?"

Her voice was soft, careful, and when he turned his face and forced himself to look at her, she was breathing through parted lips.

"I've done something awful," she admitted, and Melbourne frowned.

"Whatever do you mean, Ma'am?"

"Last night," she began in a low voice, and Melbourne shook his head.

"Ma'am."

"Last night," she said again, sitting up a bit straighter, "I dreamed of you."

"Well... that isn't so very bad." He tried to smile. "Unless I did something wretched in the dream?"

"Very much the opposite." Victoria smoothed her skirts, and her cheeks slowly went from blush to scarlet. She hesitated, and then she said, "I dreamed that you let me touch you. Between your legs, on the firmness there."

Melbourne shut his eyes. "It was entirely wrong of me to put your hand on that part of my form, Ma'am. I was quite out of line, and I do apologise most heartily."

"I want to feel it again," she pronounced, and then in her face he could read her youthful innocence, her naïveté, the beautiful part of her that was just on the very cusp of womanhood without understanding what it would mean for her. He reached across the carriage and took her gloved hands in his, and he shook his head.

"I must never again suggest that you touch me... there... Ma'am. That part of a man... that is to be shared between a husband and a wife."

"And you never let anyone but your wife touch you there?" She sounded accusatory then, and Melbourne sucked in air as he realised he could not lie to her. Instead he choked out,

"You are my queen."

"But we are friends," she reminded him, and he scoffed a little too loudly.

"Friends do not touch one another there, Ma'am. Lovers. Spouses. But not friends. Not a queen and her prime minister, to be certain."

Her eyes flicked down to his breeches then, and she looked resigned as she nodded.

"The idea proved a very pleasant fantasy last night, but it was incomplete. I have never seen that part of a man, you understand, and so I could only imagine so far. The images in my mind were... half-painted."

"Perhaps it is better that way," Melbourne suggested, but Victoria brazenly informed him,

"I found myself drowning in satisfaction over it just the same."

His jaw went slack then, and he released his hold on her hands. He realised what she meant - she'd touched herself to completion at the wispy idea of his manhood. That was far too much to bear, far too much to endure, and he leaned back against the carriage and said,

"We should go back to Buckingham Palace, Ma'am. I made a terrible mistake in suggesting Windsor. It was selfish and reckless, and I... I..."

He trailed off, unable to finish. Her waist was so small, he thought suddenly, studying the curve of her torso against her skirts. How was her waist so very small, even with a corset? How were her little arms so lithe, so smooth? He raised his eyes to hers and realised it was not just her body that he craved. He remembered the sound of her laughter the night she'd drawn him in profile. He thought of the way she'd teased him about wool prices whilst they'd danced. He found himself staring at his knees and admitting,

"Ma'am, with all due respect, you are making my job exceedingly difficult."

"Your job? As prime minister?" Victoria sounded wounded, but he shook his head.

"As a gentleman. As your subject. As one of the only people around you who wants desperately for you to be loved and respected as queen. You are making it difficult, Ma'am, because my willpower is slipping through my fingers like dry sand, and I think you rejoice in that."

"Well," she whispered, "then I do apologise, Lord Melbourne."

She was silent for a solid ten minutes then, until finally she asked in a little whimper of a voice,

"Will you at least let me see it?"

It. His cock, she meant, though she would not possess such an awful word for it. Melbourne glared at her and shook his head.

"That is going too far. Kissing was too far, but that... that could put me into prison, you understand."

"What if I commanded you to do it?" Victoria suggested, and Melbourne tipped his head.

"I doubt you would do such a thing, Ma'am. You seem more prudent than that to me."

That was a lie, of course; she was more than flippant and impulsive enough to do such a thing. But he stared at her, waiting for her to calculate the consequences of what she was about to do. She surprised him then by sliding across the moving carriage to sit on the bench beside him, tossing his hat to the other side. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and whispered,

"I can not."

"Lord Melbourne, I should like a bit of anatomical instruction," Victoria said, quite formally. "Will you obey your sovereign's wishes and demonstrate in person the form of the most male part?"

"Ma'am." He wrenched his eyes shut, panting a little when he felt her gloved hand on his knee. She started to rub at his leg a little, and he tipped his head back against the wall of the carriage. He could feel himself flushing hard, and he whispered, "You mustn't touch it, though."

"Why not?" She seemed genuinely curious, and Melbourne coughed out a bitter little laugh.

"Because then there will be a terrible mess, Ma'am. A lesson for another time, perhaps. Or perhaps not."

He watched her hand massage the inside of his thigh, and he heard her breath quicken beside him. The scent of roses was overwhelmingly pleasant then, and he found himself reaching for her free hand and squeezing. He was getting so hard that his breeches had tented a little, and Victoria asked softly,

"You enjoy when I touch you? Even on your leg?"

"Yes," he mumbled. Her hand crept further upward, and he studied the leather on her glove in a desperate attempt not to be overcome. He wrenched his hand from her and decided not to drag this out. It was already complete insanity. It was already criminal. He swiftly unbuttoned his breeches and yanked his cock out before he could make himself stop. He turned his face to Victoria's and watched her study it like some sort of scientific specimen. She leaned toward it a little, her breath catching. She seemed utterly amazed, and her full lips curled up into a smile that was entirely too alluring, begging to be kissed.

"I like it," she said, and Melbourne found himself laughing a little. He shrugged helplessly and shoved himself back into his breeches.

"All men have them. They are certainly nothing special, though they have collectively caused the world more than enough trouble."

He buttoned himself up, but he was still struggling for breath and was dizzy with arousal. He turned his face and stared down at Victoria, who was pink-cheeked and doe eyed.

"Thank you," she whispered. "You teach me so much."

"What a scandalous education, Ma'am," he said gravely, but he reached with his left hand to hold onto her cheek. He lowered his face, feeling like he could claim here here in this carriage and die happy. He let his mouth hover a hair's breath from hers, and she begged him softly,

"Please kiss me, Lord M."

"Whatever have I done to you, Ma'am?" His breath buzzed warmly against her lips, and she said seriously,

"You have awakened me."

He kissed her then, crushing her mouth with much more force than he'd intended to use. She squealed a little, her gloved hands flying up to his face. Her right hand drifted down and settled on the lump in his breeches, and he grunted in protest against her mouth. She pushed her tongue between his lips, mimicking the actions he'd done to her before. She coursed her tongue over the roof of his mouth and suckled on his lip. All the while her hand massaged at his cock, and he finally ripped his mouth from hers.

"No, please, Ma'am!" He was desperate now, and he held her face a little too hard between his hands as he panted, "You don't understand. I will lose myself right here in this carriage, right here in my breeches, and I will have ruined everything. I have already... I have ruined everything."

She shook her head, and he let up the pressure on his cheeks. She licked her bottom lip and insisted,

"You are my favourite thing in all the world, too, Lord M."

She seemed to sense that he was tortured, though, and she slowly moved to sit opposite him again. She pushed the curtain aside a little and stared out the window, and Melbourne used the opportunity to try and relax himself. He tipped his head against the wall of the carriage and shut his eyes, mentally replaying the last vote in the House. That was dull and detailed enough to pull him away from the way she'd overwhelmed him, and slowly he felt his arousal fade. His heart slowed, and his breath slowed, and after long enough, he heard Victoria murmur,

"I can see the castle."

 **Author's Note: Welp. Oops. Victoria knows what she wants, but she still doesn't understand what it all means, or what the consequences could be, or who she might wound in fulfilling her curiosity. Lord M is understanding, but how far will he go to accommodate her whims and his own want? Thanks as always for reading, and please do leave a comment if you get a moment. I will be at my lake house tomorrow and Sunday, so updates may be temporarily slowed, but I will post whenever possible.**


	7. Chapter 7

"My goodness, Lord M. Don't you look splendid." Victoria smiled as she approached him in the corridor. He glanced down at his heavily braided Windsor Uniform and shrugged.

"My sovereign has commanded me wear it, and so I shall."

He genuflected and kissed her hand when she stepped up to him, and Victoria hesitated to pull her fingers away. She'd kept dinner as informal as possible the first night here, since everyone had spent so much of the day traveling. Earlier today, she and Melbourne had spent a calm and pleasant walk in the gardens together, and she'd decided that dinner ought to be a properly elegant event. She'd ordered the gentlemen - just Melbourne and Lord Portman - to wear the Windsor Uniform, and she'd received a little note of playful complaint from Melbourne in reply.

Now she stood before him in her own creamy lace gown, little white blossoms scattered throughout her hair and a delicate little tiara atop her head. He stared down at her as though she were very precious, and then he huffed a sigh and noted,

"Everyone's waiting, Ma'am. I'm sure they're hungry."

"I mean to engage in more conversation with my ladies tonight," she said, for he'd gently chastised her today for once again giving him too much attention the night before. He nodded and said,

"I think that is very wise."

A half hour later, Victoria was happily eating her roast goose and potato and was listening to an enthusiastic conversation between Emma Portman and her wife.

"No. I simply don't believe you," Emma was laughing. "That never happened."

"But William would remember!" Lord Portman exclaimed. Melbourne looked amused as he set down his bite and listened as Lord Portman insisted, "William, do help me, good man. Was there or was there not a brawl of twenty Peers in the House?"

"There was indeed," Melbourne nodded. "I was there for Portarlington at the time. Everyone was terribly disturbed by the war with Napoleon at the time, and tempers frequently flared out of control."

"And did you fight in the House, William?" Emma grinned, and Harriet Sutherland gave a curious smile. But Melbourne shook his head and admitted,

"I was always the boy to run from a schoolyard fight, I'm afraid. I stood and watched it happen. It was quite a sight, but... I was more concerned with my written notes getting caught up in the fray."

Victoria chuckled and said warmly, "I think it is admirable, Lord M, that you abstained with dignity from the violence."

"I agree, Ma'am," Emma Portman said.

"When was that?" Victoria asked, trying to count years in her head. "When did the brawl happen?"

"Oh. Erm... it was... 1810, perhaps, Ma'am," Melbourne said. "No. 1809, still. It was in the autumn."

For a moment, his eyes went a bit sad, and she knew why. It made him feel old, just as his made her feel very young, to have him discuss experiences he'd had in Parliament ten years before she'd even been born. Melbourne cleared his throat and resumed eating, and Victoria listened absently as the table's conversation turned to the amount of rain they'd had that summer.

After a time, the door opened and a nervous-looking young steward came into the dining room with a silver platter on his hand. The table went hush, and the steward bowed low as he stepped up to the head of the table.

"Pardon me, Your Majesty. A very urgent message from Buckingham Palace, Ma'am."

"Thank you." Victoria pulled the sealed letter from the tray, frowning when she recognised her mother's writing on the outside. She opened it as the others waited in silence, and she read it three times before she said quietly,

"Lord Melbourne, come into the corridor. I must speak with you privately. At once."

"Lady Flora is dying," Victoria hissed as soon as she and Melbourne were alone. She shoved the letter toward him. "Is my mother just trying to draw me back to London, or do you suppose it is as serious as she says?"

He read the Duchess' letter, which asserted the Lady Flora would not last until Victoria returned from Windsor. Lady Flora was experiencing trouble breathing, the letter said, and all preparations must be made for her impending demise. The Duchess concluded by insisting that Victoria would look more cruel than ever by being off at Windsor Castle whilst poor Lady Flora languished. Melbourne folded the letter up and said,

"There has been public dissatisfaction with the way you are perceived to have treated Lady Flora, Ma'am. Naturally, I find the criticism unnecessary and uninformed, but it exists just the same. Ordinarily, I would say that public opinion is of minimal consequence, but your reign is so new."

"It would look very poorly upon me if it were known I were relaxing at Windsor when Lady Flora died," Victoria nodded, and Melbourne tipped his head.

"It would not be good if she died whilst you were here, no. I'm afraid I made a terrible error in suggesting we come here at such a volatile time. It was an impulsive and rather childish suggestion, and I regret it."

"Well, we shall have to return first thing in the morning, then," Victoria said. Melbourne shifted on his feet, knowing that his own want for her had driven him to steer her wrongly. He needed to fix it, now, before he did any more damage to her reputation.

"I think, Ma'am, that the optics would be best if you returned to London tonight."

"Tonight?" Victoria raised her eyebrows. "Right now?"

He nodded. "You in your dinner gown and me in my Uniform - the queen and the prime minister rushing into the palace so that you might immediately see to Lady Flora. It would look far better for you than if you wait and casually saunter in."

"Saunter," Victoria repeated, sounding offended. Melbourne let out a frustrated sigh.

"Ma'am, perception matters. Return to London tonight - ride with Lehzen and I shall ride separately - and send for the others and the belongings tomorrow. Please."

"Very well," she nodded, "but Lehzen is not to come. She and Lady Flora have always had an acrimonious relationship. I will return alone with you."

Melbourne blinked. "But, Ma'am -"

"Excuse me, Lord M; I must get a bonnet and traveling gloves before we go." She walked past him then, leaving him standing in his Court jacket in a corridor, wishing he were not such a regrettable fool.

* * *

"I'm sure Emma would come at once," Melbourne said as he and Victoria settled into the carriage. She pulled off her bonnet and set it on the bench beside her, and she insisted,

"There is no need. If anyone is shocked at this point by my riding in a carriage with you, they have not been paying very close attention. And, anyway, this is an emergency."

He was quiet then, stifling a yawn as he realised it was nearly eleven. It had taken time to get going, and it would be at least two before they reached the palace. Traveling at night, it might taken even longer. As the carriage began to move, Victoria said in a tired voice,

"I really do feel awful about this. About Lady Flora. I wish people could know how terribly I feel."

"Unfortunately, I have found people to be most unforgiving of mistakes and most willing to rejoice in the errors of others," Melbourne told her. "It is a tragedy that Lady Flora is so ill. It was certainly the wrong thing to do to have her examined for virginity, Ma'am, but such a thing can not be undone. It is too late for it all. You will move forward, and the people will move forward, and hopefully Lady Flora will find some peace from her suffering."

"You are my only comfort, Lord M," she said quietly. He stared at her across the carriage, the dim candlelight from the lantern inside casting shadows across her face. She was so very young, he thought. He'd been reckless in his youth, too. And now she was making him reckless again. Yet she felt like an anchor, too, and like a ship he himself needed to help guide. It was all confusing and complicated between them, and he found himself in desperate want of peace for just a little while.

"I am tired," Victoria said. "I would likely be asleep if I weren't headed back to London."

"Perhaps you ought to try and sleep now, Ma'am," Melbourne suggested. "I can ask them to stop and fetch you a pillow; I'm sure there's one in the trunk on the back of the carriage."

She sighed and studied the coat of his Windsor Uniform for a moment.

"Might I just come sit by you and rest there, Lord M?"

He hesitated, for they'd gone entirely too far the last time they'd been alone in a carriage. But he finally nodded and slid over a little, and Victoria slid over to sit beside him. He turned his face to her and said gently,

"My shoulder is too high for you, I think."

She said nothing, leaning quietly against the outside of his sleeve. But she seemed tense there, and after a moment he found himself guiding her down to lie upon his lap. She shifted to make herself comfortable, still in her formal dinner attire, and her gloved hand curled around Melbourne's knee.

It should have aroused him, he knew, to have her lying on him like this. But instead of carnal desire for her, he felt only affection, the deepest affection he could ever recall experiencing. He did nothing to stop himself before stroking his knuckles over her cheek, and then he murmured,

"Close your eyes, Ma'am, and got some good rest. It will be a long night."

"Oh, Lord M. Where would I be without you?" She squeezed a little at his knee, and he scoffed,

"You would still be in London, Ma'am, for I never would have dragged you to Windsor."

"No," she said, sounding serious then. "I would be under the control of a regent - of my mother and Sir John, or of my Uncle Cumberland or one of the many others who long to see me fail. But because of you, Lord M, I shall go on, I think."

He was quiet again then, reaching up to turn the wick on the lantern and dim the light further. After awhile, he could tell that Victoria had fallen asleep. He felt her hand go slack on his knee, watched her back slowly rise and fall with the steady breath of rest, and he tipped his head back against the wall of the carriage.

He was so comfortable like this, he thought. Here, with her, alone in a way they were not meant to be. He was so comfortable with his queen asleep on his lap. He enjoyed kissing her, and he had spent far too much time the night before reliving the way she'd fondled him through his breeches. But here, like this, with her asleep on his lap, he was more comfortable than he'd ever been. So he just breathed in the rose scent of her and stroked slowly at her back, and he pretended that there was no world at all beyond this carriage.

 **Author's Note: Obviously Daisy took a lot of liberties with timeline on the show (Lady Flora died in 1839, for example, while the show makes it seem much more contemporary with Victoria's coronation). But this story takes place squarely in the first year of Victoria's reign (at least so far). So I won't be following Daisy's timeline from the first two - three episodes very closely from here on out; I'll be giving Victoria and Lord M a bit more breathing room in 1837 and 1838. Just a heads up that some "canon" from the show won't be present and that some unfamiliar events will be seen in upcoming chapters. Thanks very much for reading and especially for any feedback.**


	8. Chapter 8

"Lady Sutherland, a message just come from the House."

Harriet Sutherland frowned as she took the envelope off the platter. She opened it and read it, and Victoria set down her cards curiously.

"It is from my husband," she said finally. "He says they are no nearer a vote than they were ten hours ago. They shall recess shortly and try again tomorrow."

"My goodness," Victoria said. "It must be a very contentious vote. What is the bill? Lord M said something about ironmongering."

"I believe the Tories and the Liberals can not agree on regulation of the industry, Ma'am, though I am no politician," Harriet said. Victoria frowned but nodded. They finished their card game, and by ten o'clock, Victoria had decided she would just go to bed and let Harriet attend to her husband. She bid everyone goodnight and watched them leave the soft blue drawing room, and then she was surprised when the steward at the door called,

"Lord Melbourne."

"Lord M!" Victoria smiled as he came into the room, half walking and half staggering, and she told him, "Harriet's husband sent word that the vote was not going well. I had not expected you to come."

"No, Your Majesty; the vote was not going well." Melbourne frowned deeply as he approached her, bowed his head, and kissed her hand. He seemed very troubled, and Victoria noted,

"You must be exhausted."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said simply. The lines around his eyes seemed much deeper tonight, and as he touched at his brow line, he pronounced, "I have a headache sent from the Devil himself. Too little sleep and too much argument."

"Then you must rest!" Victoria exclaimed. "I am glad to see you, Lord M, but you seem agonised. Perhaps you ought to have taken the night to -"

"I have come to kiss you, Ma'am," said Melbourne, and Victoria found herself standing before him with her heart racing. She reached for his hand and walked numbly with him to a divan, settling down onto it before the dying fire. He looked completely unashamed, as though he were battling sleep from his mind and struggling to stay present in the room. He waited for Victoria to sit, and then he sank down beside her, his hand still tangled with hrs.

"You came to kiss me," she repeated, and he nodded once.

"I went from Parliament back to Dover House, and I was in my nightshirt in bed, about to drift off to sleep, and then I decided I needed something else more than I needed rest. So I dressed and I got on a horse and I rode over here to the palace. I have come to kiss you."

"Well, then, Lord M," Victoria murmured, "you simply must kiss me."

"Thank you, Ma'am." He reached to cradle her jaw in his hand, and he immediately leaned over. He didn't hesitate, not one bit. He pressed his lips to Victoria's, his fingers tightening against her skin, and he let out a soft little sound of relief. She parted her lips to let him in, and his tongue curled up against the roof of her mouth at once. He began to kiss her more deeply then, suckling on her lip and making their tongues battle fiercely. Victoria hummed against him, her hands flying to his chest. She pushed his coat back a little and rubbed at him through his shirt, and Melbourne's other hand began to stroke her arm.

He moved his mouth from hers and suddenly clasped it onto her neck, making Victoria gasp in shock. His teeth nipped at her skin and his lips dragged beneath her ear, and Victoria moaned like an utter harlot. She reached to hold his head, her fingernails raking through his close-cropped hair as he suckled and lapped.

"Lord M," she whispered, feeling so dizzy she could scarcely breathe. He'd been in his bed, ready to sleep after a day of fruitless argument. He'd developed a headache. And still he'd come. He'd come for this, for her, and Victoria needed him more than she'd ever needed anything in all her life. Suddenly she found herself clamoring to be atop him, hiking up her skirts until they billowed around her waist, and she settled herself onto his lap.

"What are you doing, Ma'am?" Melbourne demanded breathlessly, his sharp cheekbones patched pink.

"I don't know," she admitted, but just the same she started to sway her hips. It was what her body was demanding that she do, what her instinct was insisting upon, and so she moved. She felt the rigidity of his arousal beneath her, and she ground herself against it as she snaked her arms around her shoulders.

"Majesty..." he mumbled, his own hands going to her waist. His green eyes fluttered shut, and his lips shook with every breath. Even through her corset, Victoria felt his fingers cinch onto her waist, and then his hands dragged up her ribcage, searching for something her clothes wouldn't let him touch.

"It feels good," she whispered, grinding herself down against him. She was soiling his breeches, she could tell, with the way her body had come alive. She shut her eyes and said helplessly. "I'm so... so... wet."

"Oh, Ma'am," Melbourne muttered, tipping his head back as his throat bobbed beneath his cravat. Victoria mimicked what he'd done to her; she leaned down and kissed him on his neck. She tried to do what he'd done, using her lips and her teeth to graze over the little bit of scruff that had grown in during the day. He used his hands on her waist to move her then, to push and pull her against the hardness in her breeches. It felt so good, as though she'd been set alight by him, and she whimpered so loudly that Melbourne shushed her gently and insisted,

"Someone will hear."

"I can't help it," Victoria panted, shoving her hips rhythmically against him until the feeling of climbing turned into a rolling sense of satisfaction. She felt her face yanked down then, her cry of delight silenced by a rough kiss. He sucked on her tongue as she came, and again she held fast to his greying hair. As the heat and noise in her ears calmed, she pulled her mouth from his and whispered,

"Thank you. I'm sorry."

"I need... to... relieve myself." Melbourne squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that she could see every line of his age, and she asked him,

"Can't I help you find your satisfaction, Lord M?"

"Please, Ma'am, just give me a moment in private and I shall be back." He sounded desperate then, and Victoria nodded. She managed to climb off of him, feeling wobbly and dizzy as she did. He slowly stood, the tenting in his breeches obvious. He made no attempt to mask it, stumbling a little as he made his way away from the divan. Victoria watched in silence as he opened and shut the door to the small, adjacent library. She wondered briefly what he was doing, but then she remembered the way he'd said that men made messes. She'd found her completion atop him, and he would need to do the same. How would he clean himself up, Victoria wondered?

She stood before the fire, which was now just a pile of embers, and she realised she may have taken things too far tonight. He'd come to kiss her, and she'd dragged him into insanity. She'd done everything she could have to find carnal satisfaction with him, and she suspected that the fabric between them had been the only thing keeping her virginal.

The door from the library opened, and Melbourne appeared. He adjusted his coat, poking at the pocket inside it and then wiping his fingers on the side of his breeches. He shut the door and walked toward Victoria, rubbing his hands together as if ridding himself of something. His face was grave, as if he'd been given bad news, and he said softly,

"I ought to have stayed in my bed at Dover House, Ma'am, but I find myself alarmingly unrepentent."

"You only came to kiss me," she said in reply. "I apologise for escalating matters, Lord M."

Half his mouth quirked up then, and his face warmed. He closed the gap between them and took her face carefully in his hands.

"Ma'am, I had a rather abominable day today, and tomorrow promises to be just as unpleasant. But with you it is bliss. I knew it would be, and that is why I came. I came in search of a kiss, just one, to cure the unpleasantness that politics injected into my life today. Instead you gave me Paradise, and so I am profoundly grateful to you."

He'd said that before to her, that he was grateful. The last time he'd said such a thing, he'd claimed she was like a daughter in a desperate attempt to stave off the crackling desire between the two of them.

He appeared now to have given up on that.

He bent to kiss her, his lips gentle and soft, and he whispered,

"I only wish one thing, Ma'am."

"And what is that, Lord M?" She widened her eyes up at him and felt his hands tremble a little on her face. He hesitated for a moment, and then finally his green eyes softened significantly and his lips twitched.

"I only wish, Ma'am," he said, "that I were not so desperately in love with you."

She could not breathe then. She wanted to ask him why he would wish such a thing. She wanted to be sure she'd heard him correctly. She wanted to tell him that she loved him in a way she'd never understood possible. But instead she whispered,

"I wish you could stay with me forever, Lord M."

He nodded. "Tomorrow there will be a vote, and it will come out one way or the other, and when all that torture is over, I shall come back to the palace, and perhaps we might ride out."

She nodded. "Goodnight, Lord M."

He sighed, his thumb pulling carefully beneath her eye, and he nodded. "Goodnight, Ma'am."

He stared at her for another moment, and she did absolutely nothing to make him leave. But then it seemed as though he were swaying a little where he stood, and she whispered,

"Please be careful riding back to Dover House. You seem very tired."

"I am indeed very tired, Ma'am," he said, "but somehow I shall find my way back. Goodnight."

He stepped back and bowed his head, and she felt a tug in her chest as she watched him go. She wanted him to stay, to come to her bed with her and hold her like he'd done in the carriage from Windsor. She wanted more kisses. She wanted to tell him that she loved him.

She watched out the window as his horse was brought out in the darkness, as he expertly leapt up into his saddle, and she watched him disappear through the arches at the front of the palace grounds. She pressed her palm to the glass, and she whispered,

"Goodnight, Lord M."

 **Author's Note: Whew! Lord M does seem to have surrendered to the idea that he wants and loves Victoria. For her part, she seems to have little in the way of self-control. Where will this lead? Hmm... ;) I probably won't be able to update tomorrow (at least not until I get home late in the evening), so in the meantime I appreciate your patience, readership, and feedback.**


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm sorry the vote didn't go your way, Melbourne."

"Are you, sir?" Melbourne smirked a little at the Duke of Wellington and shrugged. "We shall try again in a few months. Perhaps the Tories may be more amenable to ironmongering regulation at some point."

"Perhaps." Wellington looked a little amused, for he'd spearheaded the Tory effort to keep ironmongering businesses free from government intervention. He was the reason Melbourne's Whigs and the Liberals had been defeated. Still, he was not altogether a bad man, and Melbourne could only ever stay cross with him for so long. Now, though Wellington irritated him by asking, "You are off to the palace, I presume?"

"An accurate assumption," Melbourne admitted. "Her Majesty is granting me the respite I so desperately need after this contentious vote; we are riding out."

"But I hear you spent a good deal of time on horseback just last night," Wellington said, and Melbourne's stomach went cold. He stayed quiet, and Wellington added, "Tread carefully, Melbourne. Many think it is absurd, the amount of time you spend in the Queen's presence."

"I suppose most of those people would not care to express such concerns directly to Her Majesty," Melbourne said, a little coldly. "She attends to her Royal obligations, and I attend to mine in government. I fail to see what concern there might be over remaining time and attention."

"Do you fancy yourself a suitor for her, Melbourne?" Wellington asked plainly, and Melbourne's mouth slipped open in surprise. He shook his head and insisted,

"No, sir. I fancy myself one of her few true allies."

"How benevolent and fatherly of you," Wellington said, a great weight behind his voice then. "I am sure Her Majesty is very grateful to have a man like you to guide her, since her own real father is no longer living."

"Enjoy the rest of your day, sir," Melbourne nodded, wanting to be anywhere but here in the House discussing the nature of his relationship with Victoria. He bowed his head politely and turned to go, but Wellington said quite sternly,

"They have begun to call her 'Mrs Melbourne.'"

He sighed and turned back. "Who has, sir?"

"The newspapers." Wellington folded his hands before him and suggested, "Perhaps it might do you some good, Lord Melbourne, to focus your attends more neatly on your governmental duties and less on your friendship and tutelage of our Queen. She would be spared any hint of scandal, and you might win more votes in the House."

"Thank you for the sage advice, sir. Good day." Melbourne whirled on his foot then and marched away.

* * *

"So, Lord M." Victoria was helped up into her sidesaddle, and she carefully arranged her green riding skirts around herself. "Do tell me how the vote turned out."

"It failed to pass, Ma'am," Melbourne said, raising his left foot into his stirrup and tossing his right leg over the saddle. "We lost the vote."

"Oh." She looked mildly distressed for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Melbourne shrugged and reminded her, "Partisan politics are no concern of yours, Your Majesty."

They began to ride away from the palace then, and soon enough there was a pleasant silence around them. Finally Victoria asked,

"Have you lost many votes in the House during your career, Lord M?"

He scoffed and nodded. "More than I can count, Ma'am. Happens all the time. Really, it is of little matter."

"But your government will not be toppled by this?"

Suddenly he understood. She was worried that if he were not politically successful, he could no longer be her prime minister, and they would not have time alone together. He gave her a warm little smile and assured her,

"It was a trifling little bill on ironmongering that was too close until the end. Nothing of significance; certainly it was nowhere near enough to prompt the casting of doubt on an entire government."

"All right." She seemed relieved then. He studied her jaunty little black riding hat, the way her hair had been carefully gathered into a low braided bun at the nape of her neck. He looked at her tiny hands clad in black leather, at her milky white face in the diffuse cloudy light, and he thought that she looked very pretty indeed. Then he remembered just what they'd done together the night before, and he thought that he had sullied her, perfect little creature that she was. He'd dirtied her by kissing her neck, by whipping her into a frenzy until she'd hiked up her skirts and ground herself against him. And when he'd stood in the library with his hand flying back and forth over his cock, all he'd been able to think about was the taste and feel and sound of her. She was pure and clean, and he was filth, he thought.

"The Duke of Wellington counseled me to spend less time alone with you," he informed her. Victoria found his eyes and admitted,

"My mother said the same thing, though I should hardly call it counsel. She does not understand what you mean to me."

His chest yanked a little at that, and he worried aloud,

"I think perhaps there are too many people who have some guess on what I might mean to you, Ma'am, or what you mean to me."

"You told me that you were in love with me," she reminded him, almost angrily. "Were you lying?"

"No, Ma'am, I was not, and that is rather the problem. You must be available for proper suitors."

She scowled. "You told me that I could stay unwed for as long as I liked."

"I think I have given you a good deal of unsound advice lately, Ma'am, driven by my own selfish inclinations." Melbourne forced his eyes over to hers and nodded. "Your cousin George might be a good match. The people would take kindly to an English -"

"What are you saying, Lord M?" Victoria pulled her horse to a stop, and Melbourne circled his own antsy mount around until he was facing her. She glared at him and demanded, "You think we went too far, you and I, and so now you will spend our precious time alone together advising me to marry?"

Melbourne gulped and steadied his horse, who was anxious to keep walking. He stared at the reins in his hands as he said,

"Your Majesty, whatever man has the unimaginable honour of being your husband, he will need to be someone with a spotless history, a reputation free from shame, and in possession of a title sufficient for the husband of the Queen. He will need to be young enough not to leave you behind too quickly. He will need to be..."

He trailed off then, for the thought of her with anyone else was making his stomach ache, and he was suddenly so dizzy that he almost dismounted. He raised his eyes to see Victoria on the verge of tears, and she shrugged a little.

"I have not proposed marriage, Lord M, to you or to anyone else. I do not intend on doing so, either. Perhaps Sir John was right and I ought to have styled myself as Elizabeth II. I shall be living in emulation of her, unmarried and unwilling to bend to demands for marriage."

Melbourne could tell this was a conversation that was leading nowhere, and it was not one he was anxious to have again any time soon. He glanced further down the lawn and asked,

"Have you seen the roses lately, Ma'am? They are growing in so beautifully this year. Shall we go look?"

He did not wait for her to answer; he just turned his horse and continued onward.

* * *

"Drina. Why have I been informed that I am not invited to dinner this evening?" The Duchess of Kent stormed into the room where Victoria was playing cards with her ladies. Victoria set her hand down and pinched her lips.

"Well, Mama, if you just ask my ladies here, you shall see that you are not alone. There will be no formal dinner tonight. I am dining privately and advise you to do the same."

"You are dining privately," the Duchess repeated, and Victoria nodded.

"Yes. I'm sure Sir John would be more than happy to eat with you."

The Duchess' cheeks went red, and she demanded, "With whom are you dining? Lord Melbourne, no doubt."

"I should certainly hope it is my prerogative to dine with whomever I please, Mama. Now, will that be all? You've interrupted us at cards." Victoria picked her hand back up and pretended to study it. The Duchess huffed and performed the most half-hearted curtsy Victoria had ever seen, and she swept from the room just as quickly as she'd come.

Hours later, Victoria sat in her dressing room as Miss Skerrett poked ornamental pins into Victoria's hair. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wondering if she'd dressed too formally. She was in deep plum silk, off her shoulders with white gloves past her elbows, and she'd asked Miss Skerrett to make her hair especially elegant this evening.

"I wasn't aware there was anything special tonight, Ma'am," Miss Skerrett said. "Usually the kitchens buzz when there's a party or ball."

"There is no party. No ball," Victoria admitted. "I... wanted to look my best tonight. That's all."

Miss Skerrett just nodded, but she seemed curious as she hooked a lacy diamond necklace around Victoria's neck. Victoria thanked her and made her way out to her largest drawing room, smiling a little when she saw that her request had been obeyed. A small table had been bought in and made up with formal tableware - fine silver and crystal and china arranged for two diners. Victoria stood nervously beside the table, and after a while, the door to the drawing room opened.

"Lord Melbourne," came the announcement. When Melbourne walked in, he paused, his eyes flicking up and down Victoria's form. He waited for the door to shut, and then he silently approached her. He descended to a knee, kissed her gloved hand, and as he rose, he informed her,

"I went to the dining room, Ma'am, but the steward said you were waiting for me here."

"Yes. I've asked for oysters, roast beef, and some of the pineapples that were brought in a few days ago." She studied his face for a reaction, but for a moment he just stared at his shoes. Finally he murmured,

"People will talk, Ma'am."

Victoria growled in frustration. "I do not care! Let them talk! I will not be made to me miserable so that they will stop talking!"

Melbourne just nodded, and with a little huff of irritation, Victoria sat at the table. He joined her, pulling his chair out slowly and sinking down opposite her. They were silent until the door opened and a duo of servants brought in plates, which were set down before them. White wine was poured, and once the servants had gone, Melbourne noted,

"I do enjoy oysters, Ma'am."

"I know you do," she said softly. "You told me once that if you could eat nothing else for the rest of your days, you would feast on oysters."

He smiled a little and nodded. "How good of you to remember."

He seemed quite content then as he slurped back an oyster, and Victoria picked up one of her own and stared at it. She wrenched her eyes shut, tipped her head back, and sucked the oyster off the shell. It was a little gritty and tasted far too much like the ocean, and she quickly washed it down with a swig of white wine.

"You do not like them," Melbourne laughed, and Victoria reminded him,

"I ordered them for you, Lord M."

"Well, perhaps I shall eat mine and yours both, then," he teased. He smirked at her as he happily consumed another oyster, and she pursed her lips playfully. She picked an oyster up off her own plate and walked quickly round the table, forcing Melbourne to his feet. When she stood, he had to, as well, but she quickly ordered him,

"Sit down, Lord M."

He did, and she came around him and arranged herself upon his lap. He laughed as she held the oyster up to his lips, and then there was something overwhelmingly sensual in the way he drank it down. He took the shell from her fingers and set it down, and his face went a little serious.

"Will you dislike the taste of them if it comes carried by a kiss?"

She shook her head, leaning forward until their lips brushed one another. One of his hands rubbed gently at her back, and the other drifted around her collarbone and shoulders. She kissed him more deeply and then whispered,

"Stay."

"After dinner, Ma'am?" His voice was a low hum on her lips, and Victoria replied,

"Stay the night with me."

"What a very pleasant and completely unrealistic fantasy, Your Majesty." Melbourne pulled her face against his, and for a long moment, his tongue and lips teased her. He tasted like the ocean, but she did not care. She liked it now. She pulled away, driven by an instinctive need to hear his voice say a single word, and she hummed,

"Call me by my name. Please."

His green eyes flashed, and he hesitated, but then he whispered, "Victoria."

"Oh." The sound of him saying her name like that was so intense that she flew to her feet, and again for propriety's sake he joined her. But what he did next had nothing at all to do with propriety. He was pushing her shoulders until she hit the wall, and his voice was repeating in a low murmur, "Victoria... Victoria."

He crushed her against the wall then, his mouth smashing against hers and his hands trailing all around her chest and waist. He held one of her hands in his and pinned it to the wall beside her head, and Victoria was so overwhelmed with want that she moaned and begged him,

"Please, Lord M..."

"Please, what, Ma'am?"

"Say it again. My name." She met his eyes then, and his seemed to be burning. He nodded.

"Victoria." He kissed her so ferociously then that she could hardly breathe. She tightened her grip on his hand against the wall and felt, even through her corset, the way he'd gone hard in his breeches.

Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening and a throat clearing, and Melbourne flew away from Victoria as if she were poisonous. He staggered a few steps and stared at the servant in the doorway. All Victoria could do was shut her eyes, breathless and terrified, and listen as Melbourne said softly,

"Your Majesty, I shall be back in a moment if you'll excuse me."

"Yes," she whispered. She opened her eyes then to see Melbourne guiding the plate-bearing servant out into the corridor, and the doorway shut once more. Perhaps Melbourne was threatening the young man's life or paying him money in exchange for silence. It wouldn't matter, Victoria realised.

They'd been discovered.

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh. Can Melbourne convince the servant to keep his mouth shut? And if not, what kind of scandal will emerge from this? Will they perhaps become a little more careful going forward? We shall see. In the meantime, thank you for reading. I am so incredibly grateful for feedback, so if you get a quick moment to leave a little comment, I'd really appreciate it.**


	10. Chapter 10

"The Duchess of Kent and Sir John Conroy."

Victoria scowled as she looked up from the paper she was signing. As soon as the door shut behind her, her mother dipped into a little curtsy, and Sir John bowed. They tentatively approached Victoria's desk, and she snapped,

"What is it, Mama? I am very busy with my box this morning."

"Alexandrina," the Duchess of Kent said bitingly, and Victoria set down her pen.

"It is Victoria now."

"Drina, what have you done?" The Duchess looked as though she might cry, and Victoria scoffed.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Mama?"

"What I am talking about? It isn't just me talking, Drina. We have sources among the servants, Sir John and I."

Victoria felt her cheeks go hot. Melbourne had paid a whole five pounds to the young man who had walked in on them. He'd promised him more money in the future if he'd keep his mouth shut, but apparently that hadn't been enough. Victoria shook her head and asked softly,

"And what does your servant friend have to say?"

"That Lord Melbourne had you pressed to a wall, his mouth upon yours," Sir John Conroy said. Victoria raised her brows at him and let out a bitter little laugh.

"How funny, Sir John, that you should take such interest in the idiotic gossip of servants. And yet, somehow, I am not surprised at this interest."

"Gossip. Drina, promise me it is nothing but gossip! The newspapers already mock you; they say you have a little lamb following you about, that the lamb orders the shepherdess, that -"

"They certainly do like to toy with his name, don't they?" Victoria set aside the paper she'd signed and pulled out another, pretending to read it. "I really am quite busy. Is there anything else?"

"Tell me the truth," the Duchess of Kent said quietly. "Have you given yourself to him in a way that will destroy your reign, Drina?"

Suddenly Victoria found herself very cross indeed. She slammed her paper onto her desk and sneered,

"Let neither of you pretend that the success of my reign has ever been, or will ever be, a priority for you. You both relish the idea that my prime minister and I have been engaged in criminal conversation. What better way to deem the young and foolish queen unable to rule? What better way to have the Duchess of Kent appointed as regent?"

"Drina!" The Duchess looked scandalised, but Victoria barked,

"Sir John. Duchess. You have our permission to withdraw."

The two of them looked gravely at one another, but they bowed and curtsied and backed slowly from the room. Victoria kept her eyes locked onto Sir John's as he went. In his gaze, she could see him scheming, could see him rejoicing in the idea that there might be some truth behind the rumours that had been circulating. She hated him, Victoria thought. With all that she was, she despised Sir John Conroy, and she would see him gone if it was the last thing she did as queen.

Still, she was a bit sick as she finished her box. Her hand shook with every signature. The servants had been talking. What had they said? Would they drag her from the throne for this? Would this destroy Melbourne's political career? She had not meant to ruin anything or anyone. He'd had more than enough scandal in his life, and she had not wanted to be one of them. But she could hardly help the way she wanted him, or the way she loved him.

Victoria shut her box, and when the door opened, she expected it to be the Page come to fetch the despatches. But instead it was an ordinary steward with a small silver tray. Victoria studied his eyes as he approached. Was he silently mocking her? What did he know? The steward bowed and held out the tray to Victoria, and she muttered her thanks as she took the sealed envelope. She waited until the steward had gone, and then she dragged her fingers over Melbourne's script on the outside.

 _H.M. The Queen._

She broke the seal on the back and pulled out the paper inside, her stomach sinking as she read his formal correspondence. This time she knew why he'd written like this. If this letter were intercepted, attention would be paid to the tone he'd used, to the words he'd selected.

 _To Her Majesty Queen Victoria,_

 _The Prime Minister writes to inform Her Majesty of his intention to retire for some time in the wake of his latest defeat in Parliament. A good bit of recreation, relaxation, and, most importantly, seclusion, is more than called for at the present moment. The Prime Minister shall be at Brocket Hall and shall notify Her Majesty upon his return to London. In the meantime, he shall find fine company in his greenhouses and gardens, among his flowers and rooks._

 _The Prime Minister sends his warmest regards for the health and contentment of Her Sovereign Majesty during his most necessary absence._

 _\- William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne._

* * *

"Your Majesty, I was wondering if you might be kind enough to grant me a brief but private audience." Emma Portman gave Victoria a meaningful look across the gathered furniture. The other ladies looked a little confused, but Victoria nodded firmly. She rose, sending the other ladies to their feet, and she told them,

"You may all retire for the evening. Emma, do stay and we shall talk."

"Yes, Ma'am." Emma gave little smiles to the others as they curtsied and filed out. Once the blue drawing room was quiet, Victoria sat back down and gestured for Emma to do the same.

"He came to see me today, Ma'am," Emma said plainly. "William. We spoke at great length about... about what the servant witnessed last night."

Victoria scoffed quietly and blinked. "Well, I'm afraid Lord M is just as bad at keeping secrets than the servant, then."

"He confided in me, Ma'am, because he wanted my help." Emma folded her hands on her lap and sighed. "He has endured all manner of scandal in his life, both political and personal, and I do not think he is as frightened of this one as he ought to be."

"He went away," Victoria said. "I'm sure you know. He went to Brocket Hall so that he could... so that the gossip might die down a little."

Emma's face softened, and she shook her head. "He is not at Brocket Hall, Ma'am."

Victoria frowned. "What do you mean?"

Emma sighed. "He is at Dover House, Ma'am."

"Dover House," Victoria repeated. "Why would he send me a letter saying... why would he pretend he was leaving?"

"He means to stay quiet for a while, Ma'am. Not to come to the palace. But... well... as I said, Ma'am, he asked for my help." Emma seemed very unsure of herself then, and Victoria hesitated.

"What sort of help?"

"My carriage is ready and waiting outside, Ma'am," Emma said. "I wonder if you might be interested in a visit this evening to Dover House. It is late; it is dark. I fear the ride will not be scenic. But I shall gladly accompany you in my carriage, and I shall gladly come back for you in some hours' time."

Emma's mouth twitched then, and Victoria felt her heart thud. She nodded, before she could stop herself, and she whispered,

"Thank you."

* * *

He was only going to make a bad situation worse. Melbourne knew that even as he stood in his bedroom and stared out the window to the driveway below. If she were going to come, she would be here soon. It had been utter folly, he knew, to bring her here, but he trusted his own servants far more than the ones at the palace. If Emma had been able to sneak Victoria quickly into the carriage, there ought not have been too much to discuss. And he'd also handsomely paid off Emma's coachmen, which ought to have helped at least a little.

He should have gone to Brocket Hall like he'd told her he was doing. He should not be standing here, waiting for her to come in the darkness, smuggled to him by his old friend and her lady so that he could finish with her what had been interrupted the night before.

He should not want her. He should be reverent of her. He should teach and guide her and obey her as his Queen, but he should not want her. He should not love her.

Tonight he was doing all manner of things he should not be doing, and yet, once again, he found himself alarmingly unrepentent. He wondered for a half second if this exhilaration had fueled Caroline in her dalliances against him, if the thrill of illicit love had felt like liquor in her veins the way it felt to Melbourne now. It didn't matter; Caroline was gone and that life was over, and now all that mattered to him was Victoria.

He watched the carriage approach, and he quickly made his way downstairs, knowing he was being inappropriate by greeting his queen in nothing but waistcoat, shirt, and casual breeches. He cracked his neck nervously and knitted his hands together as he made his way toward the door, and he firmly told the butler,

"There is no need for introduction of the guest arriving. In fact, you may go, and I shall tend to the door myself."

"Yes, My Lord." The butler looked a little confused, but Melbourne watched him go and then heaved open the heavy front door of Dover House himself. Emma's carriage pulled up, and Melbourne hurried to shoo away the footman. He opened the carriage door and held his hand out, and a tiny woman in a dark blue gown and a translucent black veil silently took it. She let him help her down, and she wisely stayed silent. From inside the carriage, Emma Portman said in a low voice,

"Two hours, William."

"Thank you, Lady Portman." He nodded and turned to go, putting his hand between the shoulders of the silent little woman in the veil. She stayed quiet all the way into the house, following him wordlessly through halls and rooms and up staircases until he'd managed to take her into his own private bedroom. This was the only place he felt they were truly isolated, though he had no intention of robbing her of her virginity. He locked the bedroom door and turned to face her, slowly peeling back the black veiling that had kept her face in shadow.

"You said you were going to Brocket Hall," she whispered, and he tipped his head.

"I thought it about it, too. But then I realised that if what happened last night destroys me... I can not allow last night to have been the end of it."

Victoria nodded, pulling her dark velvet bonnet from her head and setting it on a wicker chair against the wall. She pulled off her gloves, and he could see at once that her hands were shaking.

"Emma Portman is a good friend, both to you and to me," she noted, and Melbourne agreed,

"Among the best one could want, I think."

"We have two hours," she observed primly. "A great deal might happen in two hours."

He scoffed a little laugh and reminded her, "There are many things which must not happen, Ma'am."

Her face twisted for a moment, and she choked out, "They know. My mother and Sir John. They have a spy among the servants, and they know. If they know, others know."

"Probably," Melbourne agreed, "and it will be all over the newspapers, as salacious rumour gobbled up by a public that adores scandal. And that is why I asked Emma to bring you here, Ma'am. I've no idea when... when the last time I will..."

He felt his eyes welling up then, but Victoria commanded him,

"Make good use of this time, Lord M."

"Yes, Ma'am." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, gently at first, his lips grazing and pressing against hers. She tasted sweet, as though she'd very recently had dessert, and he groaned a little as she opened her mouth and granted him entry. Her fingers went to the buttons on his waistcoat, and he knew he should tell her to stop, that it was entirely improper for her to undress him. Then he thought he wanted nothing more than to undress her, and he pulled his mouth away as he asked,

"Please, Ma'am, will you at least take off the gown and petticoats?"

"Yes." She did not seem to hesitate at all as she stepped out of her heeled shoes, becoming even smaller. She turned round until her back was to Melbourne, and he felt like an unseasoned boy as he undid her buttons. This should not feel new, he thought. He'd had women before on more occasions than he could count. And she would leave here tonight a virgin. To that he was utterly resolved. Still, as he helped her pull the dark blue gown up and over her head, he felt like he had never seen a woman's flesh before. She was able to untie and step out of her own voluminous petticoats, and she whispered,

"I fear if I take off my corset, we won't get it done up again properly."

"N-no; I think you ought to leave that on," Melbourne said, breathless and hard in his breeches. He dragged his fingers over his greying hair, studying her in the candlelight. In nothing but her chemise and corset and drawers and stockings, the Queen stood before him, and he found himself assuring her, "You are very beautiful to me, Ma'am."

"Will you please take off your shirt, Lord M?" Her cheeks were flushed dark already, and the scarlet colour crept down her neck and over her chest as he unbuttoned and tossed aside his shirt. He'd taken down his braces and found himself shamelessly standing before her with a brazen erection. She stepped up to him and put her hand there, over the lump in his clothes, and her blue eyes went wide. He let her rub him through the fabric, her tiny fingers dancing around the shape of him. He was suddenly unwilling to tell her to stop, to tell her that it was indecent. They were indecent now. It was too late to pretend to be a decent man, because he wasn't one. And she seemed to have very little inclination for being a decent woman.

"Lord M," she whispered, and then he decided that the sound of her voice was better than Mozart's most beautiful music. He took a half step toward her and she firmed up her touch on him, her eyes fluttering as she whispered again, "Lord M."

"Victoria," he said in reply, and her blue eyes met his green ones as he nodded. He'd triggered something in her by saying her name, he could tell. Some last wire of restraint inside of her had snapped, and there was a sudden detonation of enthusiasm.

He found himself staggering toward the bed as she urged him backward, and, without a scrap of shame, he helped her up onto on the mattress. He let her push him back onto the pillows, and when she bent to kiss at his chest, he huffed out again,

"Victoria..."

She put her fingers to the buttons on his breeches then, and Melbourne's ears rang as he told her firmly,

"I will not... you must remain intact, Ma'am."

"What an awful way to phrase it. As if being with you could somehow break me," she joked. But she nodded and glanced down to the tenting in his trousers. "Perhaps... I was wondering if... if you might let me see what it is you did in the library the other night."

Melbourne laughed a little, not meaning to mock her. He stifled his smile and shook his head. "I can't do that in front of you, Ma'am. It's a remarkably crude thing for a man to do."

"I think I know what you did," Victoria said, sounding awfully proud of herself. She sat back on her knees and nodded. "I think you touched yourself there and found your satisfaction."

"Well, yes." Melbourne hissed then as she unbuttoned his breeches and started to yank them down. She encountered the further barrier of his cotton underwear, but she brazenly pulled that right down, too. Then she arranged herself on the pillows beside him, and she told him,

"I won't touch you. I'll just watch."

"Ma'am, I couldn't possibly do... do _that_ ," Melbourne protested, but Victoria insisted,

"I have no idea how to do it. You are a very fine tutor in a great many subject areas, Lord M. I am asking for a demonstration."

He turned his face to her and knew she could read the shock on his face. But there was steely determination in her pretty blue eyes, so he seized his cock in his hand and wrapped his fingers around it slowly. He slid the skin of it up and down a few times, his eyes locked on Victoria's face as she watched him. Her cheeks darkened again, and after he started to stroke more firmly, her lips fell open.

"May I have a kiss, Your Majesty?" He was a little breathless then, but her mouth looked delicious, and she nodded. She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his, seeming distracted by the sight of his hand on his cock. She reached hesitantly toward him, and he paused to let her put her thin fingers on him. He growled a little at the feel of her hand on him; it felt so much better to just have the ghost of her touch than his own firm grip. She moved a little, shifting until she was straddling his thigh. She started to grind onto him like she'd down at the palace, her womanhood rubbing through her open drawers against his knee. She whimpered softly, and Melbourne covered her hand with his.

He showed her how to do it, how to touch a man, knowing full well that she'd never in her life been this close to a man's cock. He kept his fingers over hers as he taught her to pay special attention to the tip, as he demonstrated the right amount of pressure. All the while, she pushed herself down onto his leg, her breath getting faster and faster until she whispered,

"I'm going to... to..."

"Yes," Melbourne choked out, nodding vigorously at her and locking his eyes onto her. "Yes, Victoria. Let it happen."

Her hand went slack beneath his on his cock, and he studied the way she tipped her head back, the way she gasped for air and keened wordlessly into the stale air of his bedroom. Her breasts, trapped by her corset, heaved a little, and the sight was so alluring that Melbourne nearly lost himself. As she recovered, he pumped their hands quickly, tightening his grip around her fingers and bucking his hips up a bit. Victoria gasped and leaned down a little, almost as if she wanted to taste him. A helpless sound escaped Melbourne's lips then, and he managed to frantically mumble,

"Mess. There's going to be a... a mess..."

It was too late. He felt his pleasure burst and spread through his veins like fire. His ears seared and rang and he saw spots in the air before him. He watched with a mixture of horror and perverted pleasure as his seed sprang forth. He'd come so hard that the streams of his seed shot upward, and he felt his eyes go round with shock as it splashed up onto Victoria's cheek. She'd bent down after her own climax, and she had been hovering above him. Now she raised her face in alarm and stared at him, a little stream of his seed trickling down from her cheekbone. Melbourne couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Somehow he managed to reach for a pillow and to use its corner to daub at Victoria's cheek, and she slowly moved off of him.

He rose from the bed and made his way to his wash stand, scrubbing the rest of the mess from his stomach as he murmured,

"I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"Don't be," she breathed, sounding amazed. "Is that what... is that what puts a child on a woman?"

"Yes." He felt his cheeks go hot then, and he stared at the dress that they'd let flutter to the ground. He bent to pick it up and suggested, "Best that you're ready when Emma comes back."

He was silent as he pulled his own shirt and waistcoat back on. He ought not to have asked her to come, he knew, but he was very glad he had. She'd been in his bed, even if only for a few moments, and even if he never got to touch her again, that would be enough for him.

They spent the rest of their time together discussing little nothings - a new Polish composer whose music was promising, what exactly the Duke of Wellington had done at Waterloo, the process of growing orchids. They paced and sat and paced again, and then finally Melbourne knew he'd run out of time with her.

"Will you come to the palace tomorrow?" Victoria asked as he finished buttoning up her dress.

"Erm... no, Ma'am. I think it best that I really do go to Brocket Hall. For a few weeks, at least."

"A few weeks!" She sounded horrified by that, and she whirled round. "But I shall miss you terribly! I shall be desolate without you."

Melbourne took her hands in his and recommended, "The both of us need to simply... be. To let people see us functioning independently of the other. The talk will quiet, and then when there's a need in Parliament for me to be in London, I shall return for work, and eventually we shall ride out and spend evenings together and no one will mind."

"Do you really believe that?" Victoria look sceptical, and Melbourne shrugged.

"I must believe it, Ma'am. It is the only hope I've got. Now. On with your gloves and bonnet and veil. Do thank Emma again for me, will you?"

"Of course." Victoria pulled on her bonnet, and he gave her one last firm kiss before she pulled the black veiling over her face. She put her hands flat to his chest and said softly, "I love you, Lord M."

"And I you, Ma'am." He brought her gloved hands to his lips and kissed them, and he guided her out of the bedroom and back to the entrance of the house.

 **Author's Note: Whew! So Lord M got a little bold in asking Emma Portman for help, and he got even more bold in his bedroom with Victoria. But is he right? Will a few weeks at Brocket Hall really make this scandal disappear, or are they doomed to controversy? I really appreciate the readership and would be hugely grateful if you might spare a moment to leave a quick comment. Thanks!**


	11. Chapter 11

_From Her Majesty Queen Victoria to His Lordship the Prime Minister,_

 _We write to inquire about orchids and rooks, for we are most concerned with the lack of communication from Brocket Hall this last week. Could it be that flowers and birds have so consumed the attentions and worries of the Prime Minister as to make letter-writing impossible? We await with most ardent impatience reassurance that the flowers are fine and the birds are still flying._

 _\- Victoria R._

* * *

 _To Her Majesty Queen Victoria,_

 _The Prime Minister regretfully reports that a lovely species of lily in his greenhouse has met its demise due to very clumsy gardening on the part of this bumbling politician. The lily was mourned with a brief ceremony in which its beauty and aroma were extolled, and then its remains were cast rather haphazardly out into the pile of leaves outside. The birds, to the best of the Prime Minister's observation, are still airborne. The house is rather lonely, but so it always feels this time of year. London, the Prime Minister assumes, is the same as always._

 _\- William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne_

* * *

 _Lord Melbourne,_

 _London is not quite the same, we fear. There is a conspicuous absence which has rendered the place desolate and unpleasant. We certainly hope that Parliament returns promptly to business and finds itself in need of a certain Whig._

 _\- Victoria R_

* * *

 _Your Majesty,_

 _A vote is taking place in the House this Tuesday next, and I believe I should be present for it. It would not do to lose two votes in a row, even if they are both trifling matters of industrial regulation. I shall be returning to Dover House on Saturday. I pray you are well and happy._

 _\- Lord Melbourne_

Victoria held his last letter close to her chest and breathed in the idea that he would be back soon. She could feel Miss Skerrett's hands moving expertly on her hair, and she asked in a soft voice,

"Miss Skerrett... are the servants as cruel as the newspapers?"

Skerrett's hands froze, and when Victoria opened her eyes and caught the girl's reflection in the mirror, Skerrett hesitated. Then she said,

"The talk, Ma'am, is that no other suitor will do. That's all."

"Do you know what a morganatic marriage is, Miss Skerrett?" Victoria asked, and Skerrett nodded as she poked a few pins into Victoria's braid.

"I think so, Ma'am. It's when two people of unequal standing wed."

"For me, it would be more grave than that," Victoria said. She wasn't sure why she was saying any of this to Skerrett, to a servant, but she just started talking, and she did not stop.

"You see, Miss Skerrett, Lord Melbourne is a viscount. He is only just barely a Peer, you understand. In order to maintain the prestige of the monarchy, the expectation would certainly be that the sovereign would marry someone of royal blood. But Lord Melbourne does not have royal blood; he is only a viscount. And so, if I were to marry him, it would be a morganatic marriage. Legal and valid, and any children would be legitimate. But they would not be princes and princesses, just lords and ladies, and they could not inherit anything from me, least of all the throne. Lord Melbourne would not be able to stand by my side at official events, nor to walk into a ball with me, for he would maintain his lower status permanently. I would not have to abdicate, but I would be queen in this life and that would be it; I would not continue my... anything that came of us would... and there would be the horrifying possibility that Parliament would be so horrified by a Whig prime minister marrying the queen that they would all resign in protest and cause a massive crisis, and..."

She trailed off then, realising she'd rambled terribly and seeing utter shock in Miss Skerrett's eyes. Victoria cleared her throat and forced a smile that came out as a crooked grimace.

"And so you can see how incredibly ridiculous all the rumours are. How silly all the talk is. Because I could never marry a man like Lord Melbourne, Miss Skerrett."

"No, Ma'am. I suppose not." Skerrett frowned and poked another pin into Victoria's hair. Victoria felt her stomach twist terribly, remembering the last cartoon she'd seen in _The Times_. The drawing had shown Victoria dressed in a girlish little dress with a shepherd's hook, leading a sly-looking lamb through a door and telling him that she would show him where she dreamed of old men. The commentary with the cartoon had said it was entirely inappropriate that a a politician of low social status wield such influence over the sentiments of the young, impressionable queen. Another newspaper had stated that it would damage the queen's prospects with foreign royal suitors if she could not get a handle on the scandal with Melbourne. No prince would marry a flighty young queen who was so madly in love with a conniving viscount, they'd said.

That was what had bothered Victoria more than anything else - the notion that Melbourne was manipulating her, twisting her heart for his own ambitions. They were wrong about that, so very wrong, but how was she to tell them?

She took her time with her box that morning, trying to read each and every paper she signed. She was the monarch, and she would do her job properly whether the people saw her do it or not. As she signed the last paper and tucked it into the box, the door opened and the steward called,

"The Baroness Lehzen."

"Good morning, Lehzen," Victoria said as Lehzen came huffing into the room. Lehzen curtsied and said plainly,

"Your Majesty, Lord Melbourne has returned from his... holiday... and is waiting in a reception room. He has asked for an audience."

Victoria tried to keep her heart and breath steady. "I have just finished the box; I will go meet with him now."

"Drina... I mean... Your Majesty." Lehzen sounded desperate as Victoria rose. Her warm eyes crinkled with concern, and she said, "Your Uncle Leopold has written to the Duchess of Kent. He would like to come and visit and wanted to test the waters. He wishes, I think, to come and discuss with you the matter of marriage."

Victoria frowned. "Thank you for telling me, Lehzen. I do not suppose it is a good time for him to come. I shall write to him today."

She started to walk past Lehzen, but then her old governess said,

"Please be careful, Ma'am. The talk has grown from whispers to shouts. So many people making assumptions about your conduct."

"How glad I am that you are not among them, Lehzen," Victoria said firmly. She nodded and walked out of the room, Dash trotting at her heels as she made her way down the corridor. She went to the white and gold reception room where she knew Melbourne would be waiting, and as soon as she entered the room, she locked the door behind her. Melbourne frowned at that, but she said simply,

"There has already been sufficient invasion into private conversations between you and I, Lord M. I'm sorry about your lily."

"Oh. It was... just a flower, Ma'am," Melbourne shrugged. "Speaking of which, I took the liberty of bringing something back with me. I do hope you take no offence."

He reached to the table beside him then and lifted a bundle of flowers, bound by a white silk ribbon. Victoria marveled at the blossoms and lilies in all sorts of vibrant colours. She did not recognise the tropical species, but they were very beautiful just the same. Melbourne approached her and bowed his head, holding out the flowers to her. She took them and whispered,

"Thank you, Lord M."

"I had never attempted the stephanotis before, Ma'am, but I thought perhaps you might like them." He seemed a little nervous then, and Victoria met his eyes as she said again,

"Thank you."

"The rumours as still flying," he noted. "I've seen the cartoons. I usually have a policy, during times of personal embarrassment, not to look at the newspapers, but... I wanted to ensure they weren't saying anything too awful about you."

"They have been very cruel," Victoria sniffed. "Acting as though you're coercing me into losing my innocence. As though you've made a game of my heart. They could not begin to understand."

"No, they couldn't, but they'll draw their little pictures just the same." Melbourne pinched his lips and sighed. "Sir Robert Peel and the Tories may try to push me out over this."

"What?" Victoria lowered the bouquet of flowers he'd brought her, and he hesitated.

"They will claim that it is impossible for the monarch to remain sufficiently impartial when she is embroiled in a scandal about her relationship with the prime minister. They aren't wrong, Ma'am. I would do the same if the tables were turned. I think it is best that I resign before it all explodes. Otherwise, your character will be dragged through the mud, and -"

"I have already been dragged through the mud!" Victoria exclaimed. "They call me a child and a jezebel at the same time. My mother will hardly speak to me; she says I have disgraced her family. Can you believe that? Her family! Sir John Conroy told me two days ago that I would destroy the country with a childhood infatuation."

"But you are not a child, Victoria," Melbourne said seriously. "You are the Queen of England. And though I love you more than I'd thought possible, I will not destroy you along with me. I will resign, and you shall see a good deal less of me, and you shall marry a prince who -"

"No!" Victoria snapped the word so harshly that Melbourne's eyes went wide in shock. She stomped her foot and growled in frustration. "No! I may be queen, but I will not marry some foreign prince. I want you. I love you, Lord M."

"Ma'am," he said carefully, "there is only one way out of this mess, and that is for me to step aside with as much grace as can still be mustered and to leave you to a long and happy reign."

He looked very pained then, as if simply speaking the words had driven a blade through his chest. He actually leaned on the table with one hand and shook his head, staring at the flowers he'd handed Victoria.

"There is another way," she said, knowing he'd understand. He shut his eyes and said quietly,

"You deserve so much more than a morganatic marriage, Ma'am, and Parliament still would not like it one bit."

"Hell take Sir Robert Peel. May the Devil devour him and spit him out and eat him again." Victoria paced a little, glancing down at the lovely flowers she'd brought him. Melbourne looked mildly impressed by her cursing, but he said in a shaking voice,

"Your children would have no birthright to royal titles, succession, or anything else, Ma'am. You would be seen as selfish, as foolish. And when I inevitably left you widowed, for I am not at all a young man, you would be surrounded by the scraps of a social disaster."

"Lord Melbourne," Victoria said, tipping her face up and breathing in the heady scent of jasmine and the other flowers he'd brought her, "I fully understand the implications of a morganatic marriage. I understand the consequences. I also understand that my heart has no other choice. Please."

Melbourne licked his bottom lip and closed the gap between them, taking the flowers from her hand and setting them aside. His green eyes studied hers, as if he were searching for proof that she really did understand wat it would mean to marry him. He would never be elevated; he would be scorned as little more than a commoner. Any children they might have would be lower in prestige than the legitimate children of lesser royals. There might still be calls for her abdication. The fact that he'd served as her prime minister would only further anger those who had wanted her to make a strategic royal match. She would disappoint countless people.

And, yet, she was almost physically unable to let him 'step aside' and make room for some new man to barge into her life. She had kissed him the night of her coronation ball because she'd wanted him then, and the want had never stopped. She adored him, every single scrap of his body and mind and soul, and she whispered up to him,

"Please, Lord M. Please."

He took her face in his hands and tipped his head, his eyes halfway between fear and sorrow. "Please what, Ma'am?"

"Please marry me." She put her own hands to his chest, and she watched his throat bob as he shook his head and insisted,

"I can not do such a thing to you, Victoria."

"You would prefer to crush my heart forever?" She cinched her hands on his shirt, and he shook his head again, more firmly this time.

"I wish I had never kissed you back, Ma'am. I wish I saw you like a daughter. I wish that I... that you had not..."

That she had not kissed him in the corridor outside the ball. That was what he meant. Victoria blinked.

"But I did kiss you, and you kissed me, and far more than that. And you told me you loved me, and you know that I love you. And so there is no going back, Lord M. It is much too late for regret. Much too late for wishing. I know what a morganatic marriage will mean, and I want one. With you."

He finally lowered his lips to her forehead, keeping them there for a very long moment, and finally he murmured,

"It would be the most profound honour in the world, Majesty."

"So you will marry me?" She pulled back and glared a little at his bright green eyes. He looked utterly terrified, but he nodded, and he bent to kiss her.

 **Author's Note: Yay! Happily ever after, right? Wrong. A morganatic marriage will not be well-received by Parliament, much less by the general public. So it is a blessing or a curse that that servant walked in on them at dinner? Hmm... As always, thank you for reading and please do leave a quick comment if you get a moment!**


	12. Chapter 12

"William, you went to Eton, didn't you?" Edward Portman took a sip of his sherry and raised an eyebrow across the table.

"I was an Old Etonian, yes," Melbourne affirmed. "Well before your time, Edward. Was Whitman still there by the time you rolled round?"

"Whitman. Ha. Yes." Portman sipped at his sherry and then set it down and announced to the table, "Master Whitman was such an expert with a good wooden ruler that my knuckles can still feel it."

"How barbaric. You poor boys," said Emma Portman. Melbourne scoffed and said,

"I remember a time I caught quite a bad cold and had a cough and a little shake. Whitman made me come to lessons, of course, in spite of my being ill. And I kept dropping my pencil when I'd cough and shake, and he'd come over, make me bend over to get the pencil - which of course only made the coughing worse - and then smack the side of my head with the ruler."

He smiled a little at the bitter memory, but when he turned his face to Victoria, she seemed utterly horrified. She'd set down her fork onto her dessert plate an asked,

"He beat you because you were ill, Lord M?"

"Oh, Ma'am, I'm just sharing a silly anecdote. It has hardly scarred my adulthood." Melbourne nearly reached for her hand to comfort her, but he stopped himself.

"I should think that the things you men endured as boys did stay with you all in some way," said Harriet Sutherland thoughtfully. "Violence begets violence, I think."

"And do you think me a terribly violent man because I was beaten as a boy, Lady Sutherland?" Melbourne was teasing, but Harriet's cheeks went pink and she stammered,

"Forgive me; I didn't... I did not mean -"

"Why, William's practically a Quaker," Edward Portman cut in quickly. "During the Swing Riots, he was the one who refused to mobilise the military, and it's a good thing he was the one making the decisions then."

"Perhaps the memories of rulers on my hands and head injected some mercy into my mind for the rioters," Melbourne joked. He sighed then, for Victoria seemed uneasy, and he said, "I'm sure Her Majesty would prefer to hear of something other than the droll old days."

"No; I find myself fascinated by the experiences I did not have," Victoria countered. She glanced around the dining room and said, "When I was heir presumptive, I ought to have been paying closer attention to the happenings in the palace and at court. But of course we hardly ever came; the Duchess of Kent found it inappropriate that my uncle's many illegitimate children wandered about court. And so I grew up utterly ignorant of things like the Swing Riots. Thankfully, I have had Lord Melbourne to quickly tutor me in the causes and effects of such things."

"You are so fortunate, Ma'am, to have a teacher who cares so deeply for your success," said Emma Portman. She raised her sherry glass and said warmly, "To Lord Melbourne. And to Her Majesty the Queen."

"To Her Majesty the Queen," Melbourne said, raising his own glass and staring at her as they sipped. Their eyes stayed locked together then, until finally Victoria lowered her gaze and murmured,

"I hope, Lord M, that you will come and see the drawings of Dash I did earlier."

He tipped his head. "Does he look like a demented terrier, Ma'am?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I tried awfully hard this time."

"I think the drawings turned out beautifully, Your Majesty," said Harriet from down the table, jolting Melbourne's attention away from Victoria's eyes. Eventually the dinner dissolved, with Victoria leading the way out of the dining room. Melbourne was about to go, but Emma caught his arm and turned him round. As her husband spoke to the Sutherlands, Emma said firmly,

"There can be no more sneaky trips to Dover House, William."

"Soon enough, there will be no need for such a thing, Emma," Melbourne replied. For a moment, she seemed confused, but then realisation settled over her face, and she nodded. A tiny smile played on her lips, and she said quietly,

"You know that you will always have Edward's support and friendship. And mine. And she can count on me as a loyal lady to her. I hope you both know that."

Melbourne felt his eyes burn unexpectedly, and he reached for Emma's gloved hand. He squeezed it and nodded.

"We shall both be grateful for - and in desperate need of, I suspect - both you and Edward. Talk with him, will you? See if he will work with me to at least persuade the Whigs and Liberals not to resign. If everyone resigns, she will..."

"She would have to abdicate," Emma nodded. She glanced back at her husband and pulled her hand from Melbourne's. "You are willing to accept everything that comes with a morganatic marriage? Your own low status beside her, any children out of the line of succession?"

"Of course I am," Melbourne nodded. "And, just as importantly, Emma, I think it is worth nothing that I am not merely an old man besotted with his pretty young queen. She does love me, too."

"I know she does, William," sighed Emma. "She loves you so that she might never love anyone else. And that will need to be the argument - there would be no other match to which she would agree. A morganatic union is the best Parliament can hope for. And it is better than sneaky trips to Dover House."

"It is." Melbourne swallowed hard then and found himself asking, "Would you two serve as witnesses? I know better than to think there would be any sort of public wedding."

"If Her Majesty asks it of us, we will gladly bear witness to that particular marriage," Emma nodded. "Now. Go. She has drawings of Dash for you."

* * *

"The Duchess of Kent."

Victoria sighed deeply, tucking her paperwork into her box and shutting it. When her mother came in, she gestured to the chair opposite her and was quiet as the Duchess sank into the seat. The Duchess looked as though she had been crying, and she spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

"When I married your father, Drina, I knew why it was happening. There was one reason I became his wife - it was to give him an heir. Then your cousins died, and suddenly you were next in line. And even though I had lost my husband so soon after our marriage, something good had come of it. The next Queen of England."

Victoria drummed her fingers slowly on her desk and whispered, "I am glad to have given you purpose, Mama."

"Sir John told me this morning that Lord Melbourne formally resigned as prime minister. His reason was the two recent losses by his party, the two lost votes. But Sir John says that is no reason for him to have resigned. The Tories were not actively trying to topple him. So there is another reason. Your Lord M would never stop being your prime minister unless he were forced to stop. So tell me, Drina. What forced him to resign?"

Victoria felt a little queasy as she shut her eyes and said, "I'm afraid Uncle Leopold and all the other matchmakers are going to be very disappointed. Lines of succession are not always direct; I was the daughter of a younger son; my succession was remarkably complex."

She opened her eyes to see that the Duchess understood what was coming. Hr mother's face was planted into a deep frown, but Victoria continued,

"My cousin George will undoubtedly marry and have children. There is, of course, Uncle Cumberland. The point is that a line of succession exists regardless of whether or not I produce heirs to place in line."

"So you will not marry?" The Duchess sounded as though she very much wished that was going to be the answer, but Victoria said,

"I will marry morganatically, with all that comes along with such a decision."

"Drina, do not do this." The Duchess reached for her daughter's hand and squeezed desperately. "Let Leopold bring Albert here. At least give him a chance to charm you. Melbourne is old. You must give a young man a chance. You must give a proper marriage a chance."

"I have made up my mind, Mama, and I think it very important that you and everyone else understand that Lord M has hardly coerced me. Indeed, he resisted the idea most vehemently. He wants what is best for me. He fears that a morganatic marriage to him will do me a disservice. He very nearly refused my proposal."

"But he didn't, did he?" The Duchess sneered and turned her face away, beginning to silently cry. "My daughter, the Queen, marrying an old and scandalous viscount. Your children will be given no respect."

"Neither was I," Victoria said simply, and when the Duchess scowled at her, Victoria shrugged. "In any case, my focus is not on children or succession, but on my own happiness, and I will not be called selfish for that. I already surrender a great deal of myself for this country. I will be allowed the husband I want. The only husband I could ever have."

The Duchess hardened her face and shook her head. "I always dreamed of watching you walk down the aisle to a noble husband, Drina."

"I am so very sorry to crush your dream, Mama. I'm sure, as a mother, you understand that my own dream is far more important in this instance. The wedding will undoubtedly occur in private."

"You will even deprive your people of a rare celebratory event like a royal wedding." The Duchess sounded disgusted, and Victoria said quietly,

"I do not think there is anything left to discuss, Mama. I still have much to do from my box; I am, after all, the working monarch of this country. I wish you a good day."

The Duchess shook her head. "Drina..."

"Good day, Mama."

Victoria opened her box and pulled out a paper, paying no attention as her mother curtsied on shaking legs and huffed from the room.

* * *

Melbourne watched from the side of the room as Victoria slowly climbed the little steps in the throne room. She pulled herself up into the throne, her feet still not quite reaching the ground in this one, and with shaking hands, she unfolded a paper. The entirety of the Privy Council stood in silence, their anger and unease palpable, and Melbourne was aware of countless eyes upon him. He, for his part, kept his eyes on Victoria and his face grave. She turned to him, her eyes far more frightened than they'd been at any point during her coronation. But just like he'd done that day, Melbourne nodded reassuringly at her, and her mouth twitched.

"My Lords and Gentlemen," Victoria said in a trembling voice, reading the statement she'd prepared just that morning, "As you know, Lord Melbourne has resigned his position as prime minister. He has done so because I have asked him to marry me, and he has consented. Despite the consequences of a morganatic marriage, both for him and his potential offspring, Lord Melbourne has agreed to become the spouse of the monarch. Whilst I do not require the permission of the Privy Council for such a marriage, I nonetheless ask for your blessing, your prayers, and your goodwill."

She folded the paper back up, and the men in the room glared at her, at Melbourne, and at one another. Finally, Sir Robert Peel cleared his throat and said,

"Your Majesty. I think I can speak for everyone in this room in saying we are hardly... surprised. And while I wish you every happiness, as a Tory, I should like to formally request a radical overhaul of your household. If you are to be married to a career Whig, I believe it would only be proper that you replace some of your ladies with the wives of Tory ministers."

Victoria looked irritated, but Melbourne muttered from where he stood,

"That seems like an extraordinarily reasonable request."

When her eyes turned to him, he nodded and tried to silently convince her of how important it would be to compromise. They were not meant to have one another. She was meant to marry a prince. Instead she was marrying him, which was insanity in its own right. If Sir Robert Peel needed a few concessions, Victoria would have to give them. She sucked in air hard and turned her face to Robert Peel.

"Very well, Sir Robert. That is easily done."

Peel looked a little surprised. "Thank you, Ma'am."

A half hour later, the meeting had dissolved into a very tense sort of party, with men standing about eating trifles and sipping sherry. Victoria was speaking to her Uncle Cumberland, who seemed far too amused and, indeed, elated, by the news of her morganatic marriage. Melbourne made his way to the Duke of Wellington and said without pretense,

"I recommended that she ask you to form a government. It will be the last political advice I give her."

"Well, I'm afraid that was bad advice, Melbourne," said Wellington. He shook his head. "I'm far too old. Tell her to ask Peel."

"I don't suppose I ought to tell her such things anymore, sir." Melbourne stared at the glass in his hand. "Perhaps, sir, you might be good enough to suggest it to her."

Wellington nodded and looked over to where Victoria stood with her uncle.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Wellington said, turning his eyes to his political rival. "You know, when this scandal first broke, Melbourne, I thought you were manipulating her for your own advantage. Then I realised that, in marrying her, you had nothing to gain and everything to lose. You will be mocked by royalty all over the Continent. You will be left out of politics and will live a diminished life at Court. You will be neither retired nor employed; you will merely be the husband of the Queen. Nothing more than that. And so I see now. You must love her like a fool."

Melbourne smirked bitterly and nodded. "Yes. I think you've put exactly right, sir."

"Well, then... congratulations," Wellington said. He clapped his hand on Melbourne's shoulder and said seriously, "I shall miss your impassioned pleas for military clemency in the House, man. You always were a voice of reason, even when I thought you were spewing rubbish."

Melbourne laughed a little and nodded. "And you have always been an invaluable model to me, sir, even when I found you incorrigible. You know, I think I did learn that from you. Being incorrigible. Perhaps that's how I wound up where I am now."

"I will suggest that she ask Robert Peel," Wellington said, his voice warm and almost fatherly. He glanced over to the young queen again, and he shrugged helplessly. "She will undoubtedly make your life happy and vibrant, Melbourne. Try and do the same for her, eh?"

Then he walked off, before Melbourne could answer. Melbourne watched as Wellington politely pulled the queen away from her uncle. There was a quiet conversation between them for a while, and then Melbourne saw Victoria frown in the direction of Sir Robert Peel. But she finally nodded, and Wellington bowed as he backed away from her.

Then Victoria found Melbourne's eyes, and suddenly he was lost. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, her blue eyes glittered like sapphires. She was astonishingly pretty in cream-coloured silk, covered in diamonds, a blue sash across her chest. She was every inch a queen, like he'd told her before. And as for him, he did not need to be a prince. He merely needed to be with her, even walking a half step behind. He turned his lips up a little, his mind finally registering the idea that she would be his, that she would not marry some foreign prince, after all. Then he smiled, unable to stop himself. He watched Victoria's eyes go wide, and he nodded at her, just like he'd been doing since her coronation.

 **Author's Note: In the next chapter, we'll definitely see the public reaction to the news of the morganatic marriage, as well as a rather adorable discussion about the impending wedding night that may or may not devolve into a bit of debauchery. :} I'd be VERY grateful if you would take a quick moment to leave a comment. Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

"Emma Portman says I simply must have a new gown made, but I think people would look badly upon that," Victoria said as she and Melbourne rode back to the palace from the gardens. He gave her a curious look, and she shrugged. "It will be a private event, and so it seems as though it will not be well-received to have an extravagant dress made. People are unhappy enough."

Melbourne frowned, steering his horse around a muddy patch. It had rained this morning, and everything was cool and damp. Finally he said,

"Perhaps if I paid for it."

"You?" She furrowed her brow. "With your own money, you mean?"

"I am not a pauper, Your Majesty," he reminded her warmly. "Perhaps if the gown were paid for by the morganatic groom, with private money from the man to whom they are not granting an allowance. Now that they may look upon with kindness."

Victoria smiled a little at that. "I promise I would be very frugal."

"Well, I would not allow that," he countered. "You are the Queen of England, and more importantly a woman. You must marry in a gown that makes you happy."

"Oh, Lord M. How could it have ever been anyone but you?" Victoria felt her heart race a little as she mused happily, "It will be heavy silk satin with lace. White. I shall wear my blue sash and the tiara with the little sapphire in the front."

"White? Then you must choose the soup for dinner wisely," Melbourne teased, and Victoria laughed a little. Then her mood got a bit serious, and she told him,

"I have heard that people are irate in areas of strong Tory support. People think their monarch is officially a Whig now."

"I mean to stay entirely silent on politics and conspicuously quiet on everything else, Ma'am. The people will hardly know I'm alive. Soon enough, they'll forget about me entirely. All that will matter to them is you."

Victoria stared down at the reins in her hands, and she asked softly, "It doesn't bother you? A life like that?"

"Quite the opposite, Ma'am," Melbourne asserted. "Perhaps now I can focus more reliably on my biography of St Chrysostom. Without the enormous distraction of politics, I shall have more time to research and write."

"And will that make you happy?" Victoria asked. "Writing about St Chrysostom?"

"You will make me happy," he said seriously, "and I shall try my very best to do the same for you."

"Well, you already do that," Victoria said. They were still far enough away that no one could hear them, so she pulled her horse to a stop and said quietly, "I am anxious for what comes after the actual wedding, Lord M."

He looked mildly amused and shrugged. "There, too, Ma'am, I shall do the very best I can."

"Well, I am hardly a discerning critic," she admitted. She felt very nervous all of a sudden, and she reminded him, "You have so very much experience with it."

He almost rolled his eyes at her, adjusting his hat on his head and staring away at a bird in a tree.

"Victoria," he said, his eyes wistful and his voice gentle, "I think when it comes to matters like that, matters of intimacy between a man and the woman he loves, past experience is entirely irrelevant. Passion is not born of experience. In fact, I should think the opposite is true. Besides which, there will be particular things you enjoy that I will need to learn, things I will not know until we are together."

Victoria felt dizzy on her horse then. She waited until he turned his face to her, and when he gave her a crooked little smile, she found herself breathlessly asking,

"And will you show me the things... the particular things you enjoy, Lord M?"

"Of course I will." It began to rain again then, just a little mist floating from the heavens, but Melbourne asked, "Shall we go back to the palace now, Ma'am?"

* * *

"Lord Melbourne."

He paused at the door when he was announced, studying the steward's face to be sure it wasn't the same servant who had walked in on him and Victoria before. He supposed he should be grateful now for that. If they hadn't been discovered, Melbourne probably would have convinced himself and Victoria that she needed to marry someone else. Now, to her detriment and his eternal gain, she would marry him instead.

He did not genuflect or kiss her hand when he walked in, though his instinct told him to do so. Victoria had informed him a few days earlier that she wished for a more casual rapport between them. But he could only take that so far. He would never stop tagging a 'Ma'am' onto the ends of his phrases with her, he knew. And even if she were his Victoria in private, in public, she would be the Queen and he a lowly viscount who happened to be her husband. That was the nature of morganatic marriage; he would never be anything approaching her equal.

Just the same, he sat beside her on a divan before a fireplace, grateful that she'd sent for coffee on his behalf. She didn't touch it, he knew, but as he picked up his own cup and breathed in the scent of the stuff, he sighed,

"Oh, thank you, Ma'am." He sipped at the coffee, and she asked him,

"However do you drink it? It's so miserably bitter."

"I developed a voracious fondness for it very early in my political career, Ma'am. Long night spent writing, reading, scrabbling to get noticed in the House. I've been plagued, too, by bouts of insomnia during difficult times of my life, and the coffee always helped me in the mornings."

She'd know what he meant by that - his difficult times. When Caroline had been off with Byron and he'd known it, he'd spend nights staring at books or a fire. He'd spend nights with a woman who didn't matter, because Caro had ripped his heart out and chewed it up like some sort of frenzied demon. He'd spend nights holding his son Augustus' hand, which had been both happy and awful, because they boy had been so terrified of darkness and so troubled by his own mind. Then, in recent years, there had been loneliness and failed votes, aching joints and worry.

He did not worry so much anymore, even in the midst of this ongoing scandal.

"How did you sleep last night, Lord M?" Victoria asked, and Melbourne curled up her lips as he set down his coffee cup.

"I slept and I dreamed, Ma'am, at least for a few hours. I think I will sleep far more soundly with you beside me. I do not snore. I promise."

She giggled at that, and she looked so pretty laughing that Melbourne reached for her jaw and touched his lips to hers. Her breath was warm against his mouth for a moment then, and Melbourne forced himself away, knowing things would escalate if he let them.

"I didn't come here to discuss coffee or sleep," he said, pulling away. "You wanted to tell me about your gown."

"Oh. Yes." Victoria's cheeks went a little pink, and she said, "Well, you see... I was going to have some Honiton lace put on the gown. I thought it might be nice to publicly support Devon lace-making, you know."

"That sounds lovely," Melbourne said truthfully, but Victoria fretted her hands together and shook her head.

"It's too expensive."

Melbourne scoffed. "I want you to have a gown that pleases you, Ma'am."

"No one's even going to be there!" Victoria cried, and Melbourne touched his lips to her forehead and murmured,

"You will be there. I will be there. Get the lace."

"Are you certain?" Victoria turned her pretty blue eyes up to him, and Melbourne nodded. He remembered the way Caroline had spent his money without a care in the world, without minding that it was finite. She had often spent his money on expensive wine, on elaborate nightgowns meant for Byron's eyes. This was very different, Melbourne thought, and he told his queen firmly,

"Please get the lace you want, Victoria."

"It's public knowledge now that you're paying for my dress," Victoria pointed out. "My mother brought me the newspaper today. There was a favourable column extolling ' _Her Majesty's frugality with public funds in the celebration of her morganatic marriage_.' Perhaps that will settle some of the angry people."

"I think, Ma'am, that you and I ought to give quite a bit less thought to public opinion." Melbourne reached for his coffee and sipped from it, savouring the bitter flavour and setting the cup down again. He sighed and told her, "Never once in my life has it done me a scrap of good to pay close attention to what the public thinks. The public never has complete information, and they seem unfailingly to come to unreasonable conclusions."

"Well, I shall tell my mother not to bring me newspapers, then," Victoria said. "She wants to know if she will be invited. I think it would be reasonable to at least invite those who are allies to us."

"If your mother comes, I would only ask that she not bring Sir John Conroy," said Melbourne rather bitterly, and Victoria scoffed.

"He could hardly be less welcome if he tried. I do not suppose I shall have bridesmaids or other attendants; we ought not make a great show of things."

"No, probably not." Melbourne drank the last of his coffee down and let out breath through his teeth as he stared into the fireplace. "Make me one promise, Victoria. Please."

She was quiet for a moment, but then she said, "Anything."

"Promise me," he said, "that I am not destroying you by marrying you."

"No, Lord M," Victoria said, leaning onto his shoulder a bit. "You are breathing new life into me by marrying me. You are freeing me by marrying me. And, anyway, all that really matters is how ferociously I love you. You've just told me that no one else's opinion matters. And I do love you."

He turned his face to find her just beside him, and he kissed her. At first his lips were careful, gentle, just pushing against the pillow of her mouth. Then she parted her own lips and he slipped between them, his tongue curling around her mouth. He drew her tongue into his own mouth and grunted a little when she nibbled his lip. Her hand went up to hold his jaw, and then she pulled her fingers down the side of his neck, sending a shiver rippling through him. His right hand moved of its own accord then, hiking and yanking at her skirts in a desperate attempt to reach what was beneath.

He'd never touched her there. Not really. She'd ground herself down against his lap and then she'd rubbed herself against his leg at Dover House, but he'd never actually felt her womanhood. Now he found himself hoisting up the layers of petticoats and her taffeta gown, and Victoria's eyes went wide. She finally helped him, holding her skirts up around her waist as he slid nearer to her on the divan. He rubbed at her thigh through her drawers, his fingers flexing and cinching as she went a bit breathless. She stared straight at him as his hand crept upward, up between her thighs until he reached the open slit in her drawers. He hesitated, but she nodded, and he pushed his fingers inside.

She felt like silk there, damp and slippery and perfectly velveteen. She gasped when the pad of his finger pulled along the length of her entrance, when he toyed a little with his folds. Her own hands tightened on the skirts she was holding, and her eyes fluttered shut as she whispered,

"That feels..."

He waited, putting a little more pressure on her with his middle finger, and finally she finished,

"Good. It feels so... _good_."

"Well, I'm happy to hear that, Ma'am." Melbourne leaned toward her and latched his mouth onto hers, a little more aggressive now in the way he pulled at her lips and played with her tongue. His thumb found just the right nub of flesh that made her squirm, and he fiddled with it relentlessly as he pawed his fingers back and forth through her folds. He was careful not to penetrate her, for she was still virginal. It didn't matter one bit to him, of course, whether she bled on their wedding night. But she wouldn't even know what he was doing if he were to stick his fingers inside of her, so he didn't. He focused his attentions on the silk outside, on the bit of sensitive flesh that made her moan against his mouth. His left hand held onto her face, bracing her against him as he kissed her hard. After awhile, her moaning got loud enough that he reckoned someone outside would hear. He didn't care anymore; they'd already bred all the scandal they could. They'd be married soon enough. He would have her in their shared bed soon enough.

That thought sent a shock of powerful need straight through him, and he worked his hand more than ever upon her. He pulled away from her mouth, desperately needing air, and he watched as her mouth fell open and her eyes fluttered shut. Her tongue peeked out and dragged over her bottom lip slowly, and Melbourne let out a cracked noise of want. She tightened beneath him, her thighs gripping something invisible as her back arched a little. She gasped, her fingers yanking at her skirts in desperation. He felt her come then, felt the way her walls snapped shut erratically. He carefully pulled his hand away, not wanting to overstimulate her, and he let out the breath he'd been holding when he saw her slick, clear fluids all over his fingers. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hand as clean as he could, tucking the cloth back into his coat and murmuring darkly,

"The things I mean to do to you, Ma'am..."

"More than that?" She sounded disbelieving, but he helped her put her skirts back down and nodded.

"All sorts of things, Ma'am."

"And what about you, Lord M?" She stared unashamedly down at the obvious erection in his breeches. He shook his head and smiled a little.

"It will fade, and then it will come back later when I think over this. When I think of you." He planted a swift kiss on her lips and felt her fingers go up into his hair. She played with his greying curls for a moment, and she whispered,

"Six weeks feels so very far away."

He nodded. The wedding was in six weeks, of course, and it did seem just now like an eternity. Especially for a morganatic marriage with minimal Parliamentary support, there seemed little point in dragging the procedure out. But for a queen, even a small and private wedding required certain preparations. Melbourne shut his eyes against the pleasant feel of her fingernails on his scalp, and he told her,

"It will be here soon enough, Ma'am, and then after that, there's forever."

"I wish you did not have to go back to Dover House tonight," she told him. He opened his eyes and smiled a little.

"Well, I shall be here soon enough, too, Ma'am. And then, once it is finally legal and appropriate for me to do so, I shall take you to Brocket Hall and show you my greenhouses."

Victoria grinned. "Oh. That sounds very nice," she said. "You will show me the stephanotis you grew for me?"

He nodded, feeling his heart thump with sheer, unadulterated happiness. He pulled himself from the divan, feeling confident that his arousal had subsided enough for him to go out into the corridor. Victoria heaved herself up to stand, and he helped her. She seemed a little dizzy, which was probably his fault. He leaned down to kiss her carefully on the mouth, and he said one more time,

"Get the lace for your gown, Victoria."

 **Author's Note: Raise your hand if you think it's really cute that Lord M is privately buying Victoria a nice wedding gown? LOL. The next chapter will skip ahead in time... oh, I don't know... about six weeks. ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

The wedding was to take place at Windsor Castle, for it was there that they would escape massive crowds who were just as likely to jeer and spit as they were to cheer for their sovereign bride. It was a risk they could not take, getting married in London, and so they went to Windsor.

The guest list had grown a bit over the past few weeks as Victoria had realised the people that needed to be there. This was not an elopement, after all; it was a private ceremony binding the Queen to her husband. Morganatic or not, there was a difference. Her mother would be there, and Baroness Lehzen, but the other part of her childhood triad, Sir John, had not been invited. Melbourne's dear sister Emily and her second husband, the Viscount Palmerston, would be present. That was important to Melbourne, and so it was important to Victoria. Emily's daughter, Lady Frances Cowper, was to replace the Duchess of Bedford among Victoria's ladies in the change of administration, so Lady Frances had come, too. Emma Portman and her husband would be there, along with Harriet Sutherland and Wilhelmina Stanhope and another new Lady, the Viscountess Canning. Naturally, as Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel needed to be present at the marriage of the Queen, and his second son would escort Peel's wife. Her uncles, the Dukes of Sussex and Cumberland, had been invited out of courtesy and necessity. Though she would walk without bridesmaids or too much pomp, the Duke of Wellington would escort her down the aisle. He'd privately offered to Melbourne, knowing that none of Victoria's royal relatives could properly accept given the circumstances.

And so there would be but a few dozen in attendance at the wedding of Queen Victoria. It would be different, she knew, from what it might have felt like to marry a foreign prince in a grand public spectacle. Somehow she liked it better this way. She found herself almost calm on the autumn morning upon which she was to be married. She was quiet and sedate as Mrs Jenkins and Miss Skerrett helped her into her new gown, white satin silk with flowery Honiton lace. It had a modest train, for it seemed ostentatious to wear an elaborate one. Victoria's veil, also of Honiton lace, was draped carefully from the diamond-encrusted pins and orange blossoms that Miss Skerrett arranged on her head.

"You look like a dream, Your Majesty," Miss Skerrett said warmly, and Victoria asked her,

"Do the people think I am making a mistake, Miss Skerrett?"

"No, Ma'am," Skerrett said, quite firmly. Mrs Jenkins chimed in from behind her,

"Just yesterday, Ma'am, I heard a woman on the street say to another, 'I wish Her Majesty nothing but happiness. She has found true love, which is more than most of us can say.'" Mrs Jenkins smiled a bit, and Victoria found herself doing the same. But then she asked seriously,

"And do you suppose most people... do you think they will be angry with me?"

"No, Ma'am," Mrs Jenkins said, even more firmly than Skerrett had done. Mrs Jenkins brought over the delicate, short white silk gloves that had been made special for the occasion, with their Honiton lace overlay, and Victoria pulled them on. She cleared her throat and stood, turning to stare in the full-length mirror of the large dressing room. She waited until Mrs Jenkins brought her her blue silk sash, and she stared at it for a moment before slipping it on and letting Miss Skerrett pin it into place. Now her reflection showed not just a bride, but a queen.

There was a little knock on the door, and when it hesitantly opened, a maid stood in the threshold. She curtsied deeply and said,

"This has just arrived, Your Majesty, from Lord Melbourne. With a note."

The maid passed a small but perfectly-formed bouquet of beautiful flowers to Mrs Jenkins, and Victoria took the note. Her hands shook like mad as she opened it, and her heart started to race when she saw Melbourne's neat script inside.

 _Victoria,_

 _I sent for a great many flowers from my greenhouses at Brocket Hall. I confess to a lack of artistry, but I hope that what I've arranged is suitable for you to carry. The roses, the peonies, and, yes, the stephanotis - I grew them all myself, and I grew them for you. You would honour me by bearing these flowers into the chapel, but if you come without them, I shall be hopelessly entranced by your mere presence just the same. I shall see you soon._

 _\- Lord M._

She read the note four times, feeling so dizzy she could hardly stand. She set the note down on her dressing table and took the bouquet from Mrs Jenkins. The roses were peach, a perfect shade between pink and orange. The peonies were creamy, not quite bright white like the stephanotis. The flowers had been cut perfectly and bound up tightly by a thick white ribbon into which little jeweled pins had been stuck to secure it all.

"Those are extraordinary flowers, Ma'am," said Miss Skerrett, and Victoria nodded.

"They've come... they have come to me from a very extraordinary man. It is time to go, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Mrs Jenkins nodded then, and suddenly Victoria asked frantically,

"You'll both be watching?"

Miss Skerrett hesitated, as though it should be very obvious that the Queen's dressers would not be invited to her wedding. "We look forward to hearing all about it later, Ma'am."

Victoria realised she'd been stupid then. She smirked a bit to herself and tipped her head. "The loft is going unused today," she said. "And there so many little places in that chapel. So many places from which to watch a small wedding of little official significance."

Miss Skerrett grinned, and Mrs Jenkins shook her head warmly. "You will be marvelous, Ma'am."

* * *

Melbourne had never felt so constricted in a Windsor Uniform as he did just now. He could not wear the militaristic uniforms that royalty did to marry, of course, for he was not a royal. Victoria had asked him to wear the Uniform, and so he had, the heavy braided coat pulling on his shoulders and the creamy breeches feeling a little tight. His boots were too small, he thought suddenly, or perhaps his feet had grown overnight. Or perhaps he was just terrified now - terrified of ruining her life and reign by wedding her, terrified of humiliating her with his lower status and his older age. He was frightened that he was destroying her even as his heart ached for her to be his. He forced himself to shove the guilt away. It was too late now.

He found Emma Portman's eyes, and his friend nodded reassuringly at her just like he'd always done to Victoria. Melbourne took a steadying breath then, smiling weakly at the Dean of Windsor. St George's Chapel was lovely, but felt much too large for such a small wedding as this. Melbourne felt like he was in a cave, and as he turned his eyes out to the small assembly, he saw a mix of reactions.

Emma and Harriet and Victoria's other ladies seemed pleased enough, as did their husbands. Sir Robert Peel looked more pleased than even Melbourne would have expected, for he was in power now with a Queen who would now feel obligated to give his Tory government affection. The Duke of Cumberland seemed like he might do cartwheels of glee down the aisle, for now all he needed was Victoria to die in childbirth with her morganatic children, and he would be King of England. That thought made Melbourne's stomach turn for a moment, so he glanced at the eccentric Duke of Sussex, who was studying a stained glass window.

Finally he found his sister Emily, and she smiled so warmly at him that Melbourne was immediately taken back to their childhood, when he'd teased her relentlessly and she had been nothing but kind. Emily certainly understood the idea of marrying for love. Just recently, Emily had obtained Victoria's permission to marry Lord Palmerston, who had so long been Emily's love that even Melbourne suspected they'd had a child together. Emily had not loved her first husband. Not really. Now she was in her fifties and had finally wed the man who brought her real happiness. If there was anyone in the world who understood why Melbourne was doing what he was doing today, it was his sister Emily. He smiled back at her, and he watched as Emily daubed at her eyes with a handkerchief. If she'd been able to hear him, Melbourne would have teased her that the wedding had not even yet begun, and so there was nothing to cry over. Instead he just tightened his jaw, for the organ had kicked up with a triumphant bit of Mozart.

Mozart. She'd insisted they have it throughout the wedding. The Dean had taken some convincing, since Mozart's music had mostly been written for Catholic ceremonies and Masses, but Victoria had made the argument that it was Sacred music just the same. Finally, she'd insisted with all of her might, and the Dean had relented. So there was Mozart, and Melbourne knew it was for him.

It was the Church Sonata in C Major for organ, and its clear, simple, ringing joy resounded through the vacuous chapel. Everyone in attendance rose and turned to the back of the church. The door at the very end of the aisle was opened by stewards, and then she was there.

Victoria. His Victoria.

She'd had a beautiful gown made with his money, and he wanted for some reason to shout at her that she'd been quite right to buy lace for it. In her hands were his flowers, the ones he'd stayed up half the night arranging for her until he got them just right. They looked perfect in her tiny hands - the bouquet had been too large after a few attempts, and finally Melbourne had remembered just how small her hands were.

She wore no crown. She was coming to him as a woman, not as a a queen. Honiton lace fell before her, masking her face from him, but he could tell she was only a little nervous. Even from here, he could see that her steps on the arm of the Duke of Wellington were steady and sure. She wanted this, he thought suddenly. She had no doubts. He would have read them in a shake of her flowers, in a stumble of her steps. But she walked so confidently that the Duke seemed to be pulling her back a little, urging her to take her time going down the aisle.

 _Let her come to me,_ Melbourne wanted to tell the Duke. _Let her come dashing down this aisle into my arms._

But he waited as patiently as he could, his sweating hands clasped nervously before him. Behind him stood Lord Alfred, who was to be responsible for things like rings and gloves. Melbourne flicked his eyes over his shoulder, and Lord Alfred gave a happy little smile. Melbourne found Emily again, and then Emma, and saw they were both crying rather profusely. So was the Duchess of Kent, though for some reason that did not pull at Melbourne's emotions.

He returned his attention to Victoria, for she was nearing him now. He turned his mouth up as she approached. He could just barely make out the wispy features of her face beneath the lace, but he could see that she was making no effort to stifle the smile that danced on her lips.

Oh, the things he meant to do to those lips, Melbourne thought suddenly. He snapped himself to rights as Victoria stepped up into the tabernacle. He extended his hand, and the Duke of Wellington put Victoria's gloved fingers into Melbourne's palm.

"Thank you, sir," Melbourne said sincerely to Wellington, who just gave a knowing smile and nodded and said,

"We all need to be reminded sometimes of this - that love is a real thing. Your Majesty." He bowed to her then, low and respectfully, and he turned to go and take his seat. Victoria looked very small then as she stood before Melbourne, and he hesitated for a moment before peeling back her veil. When he did, he saw that she had little streams of tears worming down her cheeks. He shook his head to silently admonish her; he'd taught her to never cry for public occasions. But this wasn't public, he thought then. This was private. This was theirs. So he used his white gloved knuckle and brushed the tears from her, and he just stared into her shining blue eyes as the organist finished the Sonata.

"Dearly beloved," called the Dean of Windsor the moment the music had finished, "we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency..."

He gave rather a long speech then, about the bond between Christ and the Church and about people speaking up if they had objections. Melbourne flicked his eyes outward, but even the Duke of Cumberland would say nothing ill toward Victoria today. Finally the Dean took Victoria's right hand and joined it with Melbourne's, and Victoria handed her flowers off to Lord Alfred for safekeeping. The Dean was stern and serious as he prompted Melbourne,

"And now you shall give your troth."

Melbourne had memorised these vows; he and Victoria both had been given transcripts of all that would be said so that they would be as dignified and prepared as possible. Melbourne cleared his throat and tried to speak up as he struggled not to let too much emotion show.

"I, William, take thee, Victoria, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The words were old, from a manifest of solemnising marriage that came of a different time. But if there was holiness in such words, there was magic, too. Melbourne felt a little tingle spread through his veins, a sort of crackling excitement, and he could not help smiling down at Victoria. She nodded and began to say,

"I, Victoria, take thee, William, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health..." She trailed off then, shutting her eyes and looking as though she might actually faint.

"Your Majesty?" The Dean leaned forward and whispered the address, but Victoria shook her head. She opened her eyes and grinned rather wildly then, unable to stem the tears that boiled up in her eyes. She nodded firmly and finished, "To love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

He squeezed her right hand in hers, and he nodded reassuringly as she stared up at him. He wanted to touch her again, to brush her tears away, but he knew that would look rather silly just now. He watched her chest shake with breath, watched as she looked halfway between tears and laughter, and he smirked at her. She was almost too happy, he thought. She needed to steady herself. But he could not tell her that now.

They pulled their hands apart, as was prescribed, and Victoria pulled off her gloves. Melbourne did the same, and the gloves were passed to Lord Alfred and then to a a page waiting with a silver tray. Alfred handed Melbourne two rings, which he put upon the Bible the Dean of Windsor held out. The Dean took off the smaller ring, a simple gold band with just a bit of filigree and tiny inlaid diamonds. Melbourne took the ring, reached carefully for Victoria's left hand, and as he slid it on, he met her eyes carefully and said,

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

With his body he would worship her. That was certainly true, he thought, and then he thought he ought not to be having thoughts vaguely resembling those in the middle of his sacred wedding ceremony. He suppressed a look of exultation as Victoria took his own hand, slipped the ring on him, and repeated the vows. With her body she would worship him. There was going to be a great deal of worshipping one another, Melbourne thought, and then he forced himself to listen to the interminable readings from Scripture. One of the prayers made him jolt with alarm.

"Lord, and heavenly Father, by whose gracious gift mankind is increased: We beseech thee, assist with thy blessing these two persons, that they may both be fruitful in procreation of children, and also live together so long in godly love and honesty, that they may see their children Christianly and virtuously brought up, to thy praise and honour; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." The Dean looked quite pleased with himself, but Melbourne was momentarily troubled.

He would be a very old man by the time any children he had now grew up. And they would not be princes or princesses; they would not succeed their mother to the throne. That was this was, this morganatic marriage. That was the price, and there was, of course, a price to Melbourne's age. But if Victoria seemed troubled by any of it, she gave no indication whatsoever. She listened happily and chirped out her _Amens_ in reply to all the many blessings and prayers.

They took Communion then, and more Mozart chimed from the rafters as that happened. Then everyone returned to their seats. The Dean called out then,

"Forasmuch as William and Victoria have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of rings, and by the joining of hands - I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

"Amen!" The people assembled seemed happier than ever then, and a cry rang out, "God Save the Queen! God Save the Queen! God Save the Queen!"

* * *

"Your Majesty, I must say that I have never before seen a more serene bride. You seemed so very happy." Emily Palmerston, Melbourne's sister, was warm and emotional at the dinner and small ball that was being held after the little evening ceremony. Victoria sipped carefully from her Champagne and said,

"Lady Palmerston, I should think you know something about being a contented bride."

"And for my ability to be one, Majesty, I shall always be very grateful to you," said Lady Palmerston. Victoria reached for the elder woman's gloved hand and squeezed a bit.

"And we are sisters now, you and I," she nodded. "I very much look forward to having my new niece, the Lady Frances Cowper, in my household."

"She will serve you well, Ma'am," Emily Palmerston assured Victoria. Then a man walked up, a man looking achingly handsome in his Windsor Uniform, and he bowed his head.

"We were just talking as sisters," Victoria informed him, and for some reason that seemed to make Melbourne very happy. He nodded.

"Emily. Your mean-spirited elder brother must be granted a dance with you later. If I can pry you from Lord Palmerston, that is. But first, I must dance with my bride."

"Of course. William. Your Majesty." Emily curtsied and walked off, and Melbourne held his hand out formally and asked,

"Have you got room on your card for me, Ma'am?"

She laughed a little and let him lead her to the floor, where she was swept up into a waltz at once. His face went a little serious then, and he told her,

"You were so beautiful. I wish I had a more eloquent way to to tell you, but it's simple, really. You were so, so very beautiful."

"The flowers helped," Victoria insisted, and he snorted a little laugh.

"They didn't look like a bunch of wildflowers a child brings his mother?"

"They were your flowers, grown for me and bound together for me by you," Victoria said a little breathlessly. "They were the most magnificent flowers in all the world."

"Well," Melbourne whispered. "Perhaps I shall erect a banner outside the greenhouses at Brocket Hall. 'Here are grown the most magnificent flowers in all the world.'"

They'd be leaving for Brocket Hall in a month for a brief honeymoon, for that was where they had decided to pass a few days in peaceful solitude. Tonight and for the next two nights, they would be at Windsor, and Victoria would continue her official duties here. Then they would return to London and lie low for a time as the new Tory government settled in.

Victoria thought about her apartments here at Windsor, about the curl of the wood on the bedpost and the way the windows looked out onto the gardens. Then she realised he would take her tonight. He would make her his. She found herself shaking in his arms, and he asked quietly,

"Is something wrong, Ma'am?"

"No," she insisted, studying his green eyes and the lips she wanted to kiss. She gazed at his throat, more bared than usual by the Windsor Uniform, and then her eyes trailed down his coat. She stared at the gold braiding and said, "I find myself extremely preoccupied with what will happen between us tonight."

"Please do not be nervous," he said, sounding more benevolent and caring than he'd ever done. His hand rubbed just a little at her back, and he said kindly, "I promise, Victoria, I shall make it as pleasant as -"

"I want it," she whispered, raising her eyes from the Uniform up to meet his gaze. "I want you, Lord M. Now."

"Now." He smirked and shook his head. "It's only a few more hours."

"We could leave the party," Victoria suggested desperately, but Melbourne laughed and countered,

"We most certainly can not do that, Ma'am."

"But I want you," she said again, knowing she sounded like a child. She started to chew so hard on her bottom lip that she tasted blood, and Melbourne moved with annoying elegance through the dance as he chided her,

"You are going to gnaw your lovely lip off, Ma'am, and then I how will I kiss it?"

"Do not tease me," she whispered, which only seemed to give him ideas. His green eyes flashed with wicked glee, and he steered them away from another dancing couple for some measure of privacy. He lowered his face a little and murmured,

"I am going to kiss every last inch of your body, Victoria."

"Lord M." She was dizzy then, so dizzy that he had to tighten his hand on her back and squeeze at her hand to steady her. She shut her eyes and heard him whisper,

"You will find satisfaction until you beg me to stop, until you tell me it's far too much pleasure and you simply can't take anymore."

"Lord M!" Victoria's heart almost thudded right out of her chest, and when she glared up at him, he was giving her a very self-satisfied, crooked smile. He rubbed at her gloved hand with his thumb and reminded her,

"I'm your husband now."

"Yes, you are," she panted, and he tipped his head.

"I'm allowed to do anything to you that you want. Including some things you can't imagine."

She had flushed utterly wet between her legs by then, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly to try and keep herself from clawing off the coat of his Uniform. Melbourne had whipped her into a frenzy, which was just what he'd wanted. The dance ended, and somehow Victoria dipped a little, but Melbourne did not release her hand. He kept moving his thumb over hers and closed the gap between them, hovering over her and making her breathless with how much taller he was. He bent down until his lips were beside her ear, and he said,

"It is a very good thing this castle is so enormous, and that we haven't brought such a large retinue, Ma'am. You're going to be rather loud tonight, I think. I don't suppose you will be able to help yourself, not with the plans I've got for you."

He stood up, staring down at her and brushing his thumb under her eye, over her cheekbone, and finally over her bottom lip.

"Do be careful not to bite here, Ma'am," he whispered. "That's my job."

Then, without another word, he dipped into a reverential little bow, smirked playfully, and walked off, leaving Victoria nearly hyperventilating on the dance floor.

 **Author's Note: Oh, Lord M. First you're incredibly romantic, growing flowers just for Victoria and arranging them yourself and sending them with a cute note. Then you're teasing her relentlessly on the dance floor. You crazy boy. I wanted to give both the wedding and the wedding night proper attention and not rush either event, so each will have its own chapter. That means you can expect the next chapter to be quite adult in nature. :) For those who had so kindly asked after my health - I am home now and am feeling much better today after aggressive treatment. Thanks for the kind words.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: This chapter is pure Vicbourne smut and I make precisely no apology for that. Enjoy.**

Melbourne stood outside her bedroom door, his hands knitting together before him. He should not be nervous, he thought to himself. Tonight she would be the nervous one and he would be the patient teacher. That was how it needed to be between them, at least for this first time. She had no idea what she was doing, and he was so in love with her that he was liable to spill himself in the first thirty seconds if he did not exercise some sham of self-control.

He knocked. She answered.

His breath hitched, stuck halfway up his thoat as his eyes worked from Victoria's long, waving hair over her lacy white nightgown. She looked so terrified he thought she might be sick on the ground between them, but she smiled a little and nodded.

"Please," she whispered, "Come in, Lord M."

"Thank you." He followed her into her bedchamber, shutting the door behind them and quietly locking it. He stood for a moment, letting the silence fall over both of them like a comforting sort of cloak. After awhile, he stepped up to Victoria and threaded his fingers through her hair beside her ear. He tipped her face up toward his, and he said, "You must be very tired, Ma'am... after such a day."

She shook her head. "I am not at all tired, Lord M. I feel as though I drank ten cups of your beloved coffee."

He smiled a little at that and nodded. Then he glanced behind her at the candle sconce on the wall, staring at its flame as he told her,

"You know, sometimes making love goes just as you imagine it. And other times, it feels so very... messy. Everything's wet and a just a little dirty. A good sort of dirty, but, still. Sometimes the man isn't hard enough, or the woman isn't ready enough, and you find yourself desperately trying to make yourself or the other person want it. Sometimes it won't end, even when both people are ready for it to be over. Other times, it's over before it's even begun. And so it is far from perfect, you understand. In fact, it's never perfect."

He turned his eyes back to Victoria, and she seemed very confused.

"Is this your way of trying to tell me that I will hate it?"

He laughed a little and shook his head. "No. I... I mean to do absolutely everything in power to ensure you do not hate it, Victoria. But it may hurt this first time, just a little. You may wonder what all the fuss is about. It may be a mess. It will be a mess. But that's all right, because I will be here tomorrow night, and the night after, and the night after... and we shall practise, you and I. All right?"

He knew then that he'd rambled in a most ridiculous fashion, but Victoria seemed almost comforted by it. She nodded, relief washing over her face, and she admitted, "I've been terrified of displeasing you."

He had to fight so hard not to laugh at her then that a strange choked sound came out, and he bent to kiss her lips. "Victoria," he whispered, "to me you will be perfect for all eternity, no matter what you do."

He kissed her then, really kissed her. It was slow at first, lips against lips with just the slightest amount of pressure. Her hands went to the tie around his waist, and she undid the knot holding closed his brocade dressing gown. He shucked it off his shoulders and let it fall, but when she reached between his legs, he caught her hand and shook his head.

"No, Ma'am. You must allow me to attend wholly to you first, for a good long while. Start touching that awful thing and this entire endeavour will last a half a minute."

She smiled a bit and nodded, and he kissed her harder. He urged her lips open, searching the cave of her mouth with an eager tongue. Her hands went to his biceps, squeezing a little, and he gently held her face. Then he moved a hand to massage her breast through her nightgown, realising that he had never witnessed her without a corset. Suddenly he was flush with desire to see her skin, to see her bared to him, and he started to pull at the nightgown, bunching it in his fists beside her waist as he kissed her harder than ever. He edged her toward her bed, and she helped him pull the nightgown up and off. She was naked as she scrambled backward up onto the bed, and Melbourne watched in wonder.

She was thin and smooth even without all her perfecting undergarments. In fact, she seemed more perfect this way, more softly human. There was just the slightest curve in her narrow waist, giving way to thin hips and shapely thighs. Her breasts were small but so perfect, round with nipples that had already peaked with curiosity. She crawled backward on the bed against the pillows and asked,

"Shall I just lie here? Will you... I mean... you will be on top of me? And you will move yourself inside of me?"

Melbourne squeezed his eyes against her almost aggressive virginity. He took a steadying breath and tried not to sound condescending as he told her,

"Eventually, Ma'am, I will put myself inside of you. But this will be much more comfortable for you - especially tonight, if you are... excited."

"But I am excited! Very excited." Victoria's breasts swelled up with her thick breaths then, and she asked him, "Didn't you hear me on the dance floor, Lord M? I want you. Now."

"You must be patient, Victoria, and I promise you shall be glad you were." Melbourne climbed up onto the bed with her, sitting cross-legged on the mattress beside her and paying no attention to the way he'd already gone hard beneath his own nightshirt. He cleared his throat and said,

"You are my Queen."

"Yes," she nodded, "but before that I am your wife."

"Then I ask that you allow me to be a little... demanding... of you tonight, Ma'am." Melbourne shifted where he sat, and when Victoria's brows furrowed with confusion, he clarified, "I beg of you, know that everything I ask you to do is so that you might experience real pleasure. I am not trying to boss you about."

"All right," she said hesitantly, and Melbourne took a shaking breath before he whispered,

"Touch yourself for me."

Victoria squeezed her thighs together, as if she were suddenly very aware of how naked she was. She frowned and shook her head.

"Right here in front of you?"

"Yes." Melbourne nodded once, and Victoria only hesitated a half second before finally opening her thighs back up and sliding her hand down over her belly. He watched her fingers nestle into the little thatch of hair, pressing down to what was beneath. He noted the way she dipped her middle finger carefully into her entrance, just a little bit, the way her thumb started rubbing at once at her nub. He forced his eyes up to hers, and he reached to pet the hair that had been loosened.

"Tell me," he whispered, "what it was like the first time you did this."

Victoria squirmed a little, and Melbourne held her down by cupping her breast in his hand and leaning a little of his weight onto her. She seemed to like that, the way he was hovering above her. He licked his lip and asked her again,

"What was it like?"

"It was... oh. It was before my coronation." Victoria's voice was rickety, and she slowly shut her eyes as though she were remembering. Melbourne looked down to see her hand moving slowly and steadily on her sex. Victoria continued, "We had ridden out, you and I, and you were so handsome that day. I came back to my chambers.. oh. _Oh_. I had spent years and years forced to sleep in the same space as my mother, and so I had never dared. But then... _oh_ , Lord M... I thought of you and I put my hand where it needed to go, and then I... I..."

"Then what, Ma'am?" Melbourne leaned down and brushed his lips against her neck, enough to stimulate but not enough to satisfy. He hummed against her skin, "Then what happened?"

"I... came... thinking of you, and that's how it's been every time since," Victoria informed him. That made Melbourne's cock twitch, but he ignored it and instead rewarded her with some real kisses on her neck. She moaned rather loudly when he began to suckle on her delicate flesh, when he drove his tongue in harsh lines from her neck to her ear. She started to pump her hips against her own hand, to tighten and pant, and he knew she was close. It wouldn't take much for her, not tonight. But she needed this. She needed to be wet and sated before he would take her. So he sucked her earlobe between his teeth, and he whispered beside her ear,

"Does it feel good? What you're doing right now?"

"Yes," she huffed, and he kissed her cheek and muttered,

"Say it louder."

"Yes!" She keened out the word, her back arching up and her face tipping back. Melbourne latched onto her neck and nuzzled his face against it, breathing in the scent of roses before he started suckling again. He seemed to trigger a point of no return for her; she thrashed so hard that he pinned her down with his weight again, and when he pulled his mouth from her neck, a wordless groan escaped her lips. Those lips looked especially delicious just now, so Melbourne kissed her through the rest of it, his hand cradling her face as he caressed her mouth with his tongue. Eventually her voice went silent and her breath started to steady. Her body gave up its fight, going slack beneath Melbourne, and he released his weight from her a bit. He touched his lips softly to hers and sat up, seeing the way her face had flushed deep crimson. She cast a forearm over her face and whispered,

"Well, _now_ I am tired."

He laughed a little, his eyes dragging down her form. Suddenly he had a need to play with her breasts, and almost instinctive drive to touch and kiss them. He began to caress her chest on the right side, playing with the soft, pillowy skin and dragging his fingertips around her firm nipple. Victoria sucked in air but kept her eyes covered with her forearm. Melbourne deepened his stroked, cupping and squeezing just a little, and finally he tweaked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it a little and pinched, and Victoria gasped. She moved her arm and stared at him in shock, and his eyebrows went up.

"Too much?"

"Not enough," she said, shocking him. He smirked then, realising that she liked what he was doing. That made him happy; he liked to do it. He lowered his face and started planting soft kisses all around her left breast, his hand still toying with the other one. Eventually his mouth grew more insistent, and he groaned against her when he felt her hands go to his hair. Her fingernails raked over his scalp, and she twined her thin fingers in his short curls. That felt good, so good, and Melbourne thought perhaps he might just spill himself on her sheets without ever entering her. Feeling a little desperate, he suckled as much of her breast as he could into his mouth, running his tongue flat against her nipple until her fingers tightened on his head and she cried out loudly. She liked it. He could tell by the way she was whispering his name, by the way her hands had turned to massage in his hair. He sucked harder and lapped at her nipple again to soothe it.

Eventually he pulled his mouth off her with a little pop, his lips feeling swollen as he stared up at her. Victoria looked shaken then, and she whispered,

"If you just... put your fingers on me for one moment... I will..."

She couldn't finish the thought, because Melbourne knew where she'd been going. He slid his left hand down between her legs, feeling a little clumsy with his off hand here. But she was right; all it took was a few strokes of his first two fingers around her folds and a little press against her nub, and then she was coming again, apparently driven to madness by it all. She threw her head back against the pillow, Melbourne's breath seethed between his teeth as he watched her finish in ecstasy. It seemed to take forever for her to recover this time, and when she did, she was slack and drowsy. But he needed her. He needed her now.

He might put a child on her tonight, he knew. It was certainly a possibility. It was something that was to be expected of a husband and wife. But he was not a young man anymore, and it occurred to him that he'd never put a child on any of the women with whom he'd comforted himself during the scandal with Caroline. And it had only happened twice with Caro, despite countless attempts. He wondered distantly if he could even put a child on Victoria, and then he wondered more vividly if she actually wanted a child from him. After all, no offspring of theirs would be a real heir, and she'd spoken many times of how fearful she was of childbirth, of the way newborns disgusted her. Somehow, that seemed like a conversation that ought to happen some other time. There would be many more chances, anyway. Melbourne swallowed hard and asked plainly,

"When did you last bleed, Ma'am?"

"What?" She seemed jolted from her peaceful reverie by his question, and he asked her again,

"When did your bleeding last stop?"

Her cheeks went pink. "Two days ago. I was afraid I might still be... you know, indisposed. For the wedding."

"Oh. No, it's fine. Everything's fine. Please, I must be inside you now."

"Yes." Victoria blinked, seeming to remember that they were meant to consummate this marriage, even if it were a morganatic one. Melbourne moved to hover over her, carefully parting her thighs with his hands, and he lined himself up against her. His tip pressed insistently at her unprepared entrance, and Victoria gasped at the pressure.

"Just hold onto me," Melbourne said, trying to be comforting, "and just look at me."

Her eyes went wide with fear when he pushed in a little, but with every inch he sank into her, she relaxed a little. Her eyes rolled back a little, and Melbourne asked in confusion,

"Does it hurt, Ma'am?"

"No... It feels like heaven." Victoria was breathless, pushing her chest up toward him as her hands squeezed his arms. Melbourne smiled a bit to himself. Perhaps she'd felt a little tear, a slight pull, but he'd managed to help her body be ready enough to receive him. So he pushed in further, gasping himself at the delightful feel of being buried inside of her. He stopped for a moment, dizzy and overwhelmed by the tight, wet heat around his shaft. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent to press his lips to Victoria's, and he whispered helplessly,

"I love you... so very much."

"And now you are my husband." Her hands moved to his back, going flat there, and he nodded. He touched his forehead to hers and shuddered with deeper contentment than he'd ever felt.

"And now I am your husband, Ma'am."

He started to move, to withdraw a few inches from her and then slowly cycle back in. Every time he did it, Victoria's body swayed a little against the mattress. There was a look somewhere between amazement and determination in her blue eyes, and she stared straight at Melbourne as he moved with a bit more urgency.

"More," she whispered then, her voice cutting through the heavy air in the room. "More, Lord M."

"Mmm." He tried to keep a rhythm, tried to be smooth and elegant about it, but soon enough he'd lost his ability to be anything but desperate. He started to jerk his hips against her, relishing the way their bodies linked up every time he sheathed himself. Her legs started to work their way up, to wrap around him, and her hands moved all over the expanse of his back. Melbourne finally gave in and picked up speed, seeing in her face that she was not in pain. She was smiling at him, in fact, her lips shifting beautifully into a curl of delight. She looked exhausted from what he'd already done to her, and her chest heaved so quickly that he wanted to tell her to take a deep breath. Instead he shoved her hard against the pillows with each thrust, finally feeling his body careen over an unseen edge.

He let out a juddering sigh of satisfaction, screwing his eyes shut as he felt his seed fill her body. The heat and noise of it all was contained within him, but it was defeating and seared him from the inside out for a moment. As the delicious sensation faded, he slid out of Victoria's body and rolled slowly onto his back beside her. He was still panting as he stared at the ceiling and encouraged her to snare her body around him. Victoria seemed to move on instinct then, for he knew very well she'd never snuggled up onto a man like this. He sighed happily as she cast her little leg over his thighs, as she put her right hand onto his chest and let her body go flush with the side of his. She let her face rest where his chest met his shoulder, and though she kissed the skin there, she said nothing. Neither did he, and in fact they were silent for so long that he almost fell asleep, until he heard her whisper,

"Thank you, Lord M. I have heard horror stories of women bloodied and crying on their wedding nights. But, then, they probably married monsters, and I've got a saint."

He scoffed and reached up to drag his fingers along her ribcage.

"Well. There's no one in the world half as lucky as me when it comes to marriage, Ma'am."

"Because you've got a queen?" She looked up at him, her blue eyes teasing, but he shook his head.

"Because I've got you, Ma'am."

He managed to get them both beneath the blankets, and she curled right up against him again. This time, when he shut his eyes, he did sleep, and there was no trace of insomnia. He slept deeply and dreamlessly, lost entirely to the peace of finally having Victoria.

 **Author's Note: Whew! I wanted to do the wedding night from Melbourne's perspective, but the next lemon between them will be from Victoria's POV. It's never easy to make everyone happy with a wedding night scene, but I hope that satisfied. ;) Please let me know what you think in the comments. Thanks for reading. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

_To My Most Beloved Niece, Queen Victoria:_

 _I wish I could write to you with congratulations, but instead all I find myself able to send you is my conveyed despair. Victoria, I fear that your morganatic marriage to your manipulative former prime minister may be the downfall of your country. You know I adore you as if you were a daughter of my own, and that is why I wept so bitterly when news reached me of your marriage._

 _Albert would have brought you great joy. Your children with him would have been recognised as royals. He would have been a true Consort beside you. Instead, you have acted like a child and have married an old man best known for recently being dragged to court over criminal conversation with a married woman. This is a disaster, Victoria, and it is not one you can repair._

 _Now I grieve. I grieve the greatness that your reign might have spelled for you and for our family, and most importantly for England. I grieve the fact that your children - my relatives - will be demoted in society because they will be born unto a lowly viscount. I grieve the affectionate relationship you and I have cultivated, Victoria, which I fear will no longer be possible to maintain. My constant prayers are devoted to the your reclamation._

 _With endless sorrow,_

 _Your Uncle, Leopold of the Belgians_

Victoria stared at the letter where she sat at her desk in Buckingham Palace, and then she tore it up. She tossed the pieces aside and glared up at her mother.

"I suppose you must be very pleased with yourself, Mama. I'm sure you send Uncle Leopold all manner of letters yourself."

"I sent him only one, Drina, saying that your choice had caused me great pain." The Duchess of Kent sniffed a little, and Victoria scoffed.

"Why?" She flew to her feet and slammed her hands onto her desk. "Why should _my_ marriage cause _you_ pain? Why do you even care, Mama?"

"Because you are better than he is, Drina!" The Duchess shouted, and Victoria shook where she stood. She seethed for a moment, and the Duchess' eyes welled a little. Victoria thought of all the awful things she could spit at her mother, but for some reason, the only words that she could manage were,

"Get out."

The Duchess shook her head. "Drina..."

"Your Queen has commanded that you leave the room, Duchess. Get out. Out of my sight. You will stay away from me until summoned. Go away. Now."

The Duchess looked wholly scandalised. "Drina!"

"You know, I find I'd rather you be at Kensington Palace," Victoria said, her voice trembling fiercely. "I do not want you here. Arrange for your household to move at your earliest convenience."

"That awful man has stolen my daughter from me!" The Duchess cried, stomping her foot in rage. "That awful, womanising, self-serving peasant has -"

"It rather sounds as though I'm being discussed."

Victoria's eyes flew to the door, where Melbourne had let himself in. He bowed his head politely to Victoria, and then he calmly walked toward the Duchess.

"Dearest mother," he said rather sarcastically, "Whatever has you speaking of me in such affectionate terms?"

The Duchess of Kent shook her head and whispered, "You will never be a prince. You will never be king."

"No, I will not," Melbourne agreed. "I was very well aware of that fact when I married Her Majesty. Forgive me; was I interrupting something? Perhaps I ought to have knocked."

"You came at precisely the right moment, Lord M. Mama is busy; she has to make plans for her household to leave Buckingham Palace." Victoria glanced down at the torn remains of her uncle's letter, and she saw Melbourne's eyes go there. He cleared his throat and said to his mother-in-law,

"Well, Duchess, I do wish you a safe journey. Kensington, I assume?"

"Do not dare speak to me, Mr Lamb," the Duchess spat, and Victoria felt her anger snap like a wire inside of her.

"He is to be addressed properly, Duchess," she said, and her mother shrugged.

"But there is absolutely nothing proper about him. Goodbye, Drina. Send for me when you've come to your senses." The Duchess performed a very bitter little curtsy, and then she stormed quickly out of the room. She slammed the door shut behind her, and Melbourne licked his bottom lip slowly as he gestured to the chair opposite Victoria's.

"May I sit, Ma'am?"

"Of course." Victoria sank into her own chair and picked up the strips that had been her uncle's letter. She dragged her fingers over them and murmured, "This letter came from Belgium. My Uncle Leopold had quite a lot to say, none of it helpful."

"Yes, well... he's always been very aspirational on behalf of the Coburgs. I'm sure he was devasted by the notion that your cousin Albert had been so swiftly erased as an option for you." Melbourne crossed one knee over the other, and Victoria shrugged.

"I don't care if I never see her again. Is that awful?"

"Your mother, you mean." Melbourne sighed heavily and shook his head. "I would not want to intervene into that any further than I've already done."

Victoria waited until he found her eyes, and she said seriously, "I think I hate her."

"You've dismissed her. Rather thoroughly, I must say. Perhaps it would be best if, for now, you try not to trouble your mind with thoughts of her. Give one another physical distance and a lack of communication for awhile. I do find that helps cool tempers over time."

He reached into his coat then and pulled out a folded leaflet. He hesitated and then opened it, staring at it for a moment. Finally he passed it over to Victoria and said,

"I try to ignore things like this, positive or negative, but I thought you might like to know that this is circulating widely around London, Manchester, Liverpool, and a few other places."

Victoria took the leaflet and felt her eyebrows go up. It was a sketch of a two playing cards, the Queen of Hearts and a Jack. She recognised at once that the Queen on the card was herself; she'd been drawn rather accurately in profile. The Jack was Melbourne. The caption beneath read,

" _The Queen of Hearts has married for unselfish love. The wild Jack is not so inferior as he would seem._ "

"It is an unsophisticated sort of cartoon, but it is... well, it seems almost approving." Melbourne smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. Victoria set the leaflet down, and she stared at the grandfather clock in the corner.

"I began bleeding a few hours ago."

Melbourne looked unaffected. When it was obvious Victoria expected a response, he asked her,

"Are you in need of some sort of medical care, Ma'am?"

"I am not with child," she said, as though he'd gone dim. He smirked.

"Well, no. Obviously not. Would you prefer I sleep in my own chambers until you are better?"

"You are not displeased," Victoria noted, and Melbourne's cheeky smile grew.

"With all respect, Victoria, prompt reproduction is hardly a goal of our particular marriage. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose," she sighed. "I admit I was... relieved... this morning."

A knowing look came over Melbourne's face then, and he shook his head. "There will never be any rush at all, Ma'am."

"I would ride out with you, but it is cold and I am uncomfortable," Victoria admitted. "I have finished my box. I do not want to socialise with my ladies. Will you... can we... I am bored."

Melbourne laughed quietly then and suggested, "Perhaps you can help your dressers choose the clothes you're taking to Brocket Hall."

"Oh..." Victoria realised they were leaving the next day for his favourite home, and she scowled. She would still be bleeding during their entire trip. "But I shall be unavailable to you there. It won't be any fun."

Melbourne rolled his eyes. "First of all, Ma'am, I intend to keep you wildly entertained with flowers. You won't know what to do with yourself. And, secondly, there are all manner of things you and I might do with one another that are entirely possible even now."

Victoria felt her cheeks go a little warm. "Like what?"

He drummed his fingers on her desk and said playfully, "I suppose you'll have to wait and find out, Ma'am."

* * *

"And this... this is my own personal Paradise. Please shut the door quickly behind you; we mustn't let the cold in." Melbourne felt proud as he watched Victoria's face light up. He'd reopened the greenhouses rather recently, having left them abandoned for years after Caroline had died. He hadn't come here since just before the wedding, but he had gardeners to attend carefully to the flowers when he was absent. Everything looked very much in order, and Melbourne said politely,

"Here; I shall take your cloak and bonnet and gloves."

Victoria stripped it all off willingly, for it was quite hot inside the greenhouse. Melbourne set all of it down on a wooden bench near the door, taking off his own hat and coat and then rolling his thin sleeves to his elbows. He could hear the fountain gurgling in the far corner, and as Victoria stepped forward, she seemed at a loss for words. Finally she turned back to him and said,

"It's beautiful. It's like Eden."

"It is, a little," Melbourne nodded. He watched as Victoria stepped up to a little pond surrounded by deep purple flowers. He felt a bit exhilarated as he walked up beside her and said, "Those are amethyst calla lilies."

"I've only seen them in white," Victoria mused, and Melbourne nodded.

"I find them quite dignified when they're dark. Those I chose in the hope that someday you might put some in your hair." He smiled at her then, and she looked a little confused before she nodded. Melbourne showed her his flowering bleeding heart vines, explaining that he had every intention of transferring them to Buckingham Palace for her once the weather improved. He showed her the anthruriam, and he said,

"I shall put some in a pot for you before we leave, Ma'am; they might cheer up your desk when you're doing the box. Over here are the stephanotis. They turned out marvelously; I was very worried you wouldn't have them in your bouquet, but -"

"Lord M," Victoria interrupted, and Melbourne was jarred from his rambling. She stared seriously up at him and asked, "How many of the flowers in this greenhouse were chosen and grown because of me?"

Melbourne gulped. "All of them."

Victoria's eyes rimmed red at once. She nodded, walking over to his orchids. She studied them one by one, from the most awkward variety to the most elegant. She silently passed by his yellow hibiscus, and then she stopped in front of the bushes of peach roses. They were the ones he'd put in her wedding bouquet, and she stared at them as she asked,

"Why peach ones?"

Melbourne took a step toward her. "I thought they would complement your hair and eyes, Ma'am. I was right; you looked beautiful."

"Well, the roses were most expertly grown," she said, turning to face him. She nodded vigorously, looking around her and seeming to realise that her presence in his life had reinvigorated this passion within him. She shrugged and told him, "It's lovely. All of it. Every last flower."

Melbourne took her hands in his and told her seriously, "You must tell me if there is ever a flower you crave, Ma'am, and I shall grow it for you. Or if there are any you want cut, any you want to wear or put in a vase or... they're all yours, so..."

"Oh, Lord M." Victoria took his face in her hands and stretched up onto her tiptoes. He put his hands to her waist and met her halfway, kissing her slowly, carefully. He listened to the fountain running, felt the warm air surround them, and he deepened the kiss. She tasted sweet here among the flowers, the heady feel of her almost overwhelming in this stiflingly hot, aromatic space. Finally Melbourne pulled away, and Victoria asked him,

"May I take a rose back to the house with me?"

Melbourne quirked up half his mouth. "Yes. Of course."

He went to his work table and fetched a pair of curved shears that would cut through the woody stems of the rose bush. He went over to the roses and crouched down, glancing over all the blossoms until he found the perfect one. He worked his way down its stem and cut where it met the branch, pulling the rose up and dragging the blade of the shears over the thorns until they were worn down. He went to put his tool back on his table, and then he approached Victoria. He bowed his head and held out the single peach rose, and he murmured,

"Your Majesty."

She took the flower and stared at it for a long moment. She eyed every petal, it seemed, and then finally she whispered,

"Never in all the world has a woman loved a man half so much as I love you, Lord M."

"And all I had to do was grow you a few flowers," he joked. But when she raised her eyes to him, she seemed very serious. She needed to be kissed, he decided. He closed the gap between them and took her face again, his lips gentle and slow as she held the rose lengthwise against his arm. The world outside the greenhouse suddenly faded; all there was was the sound of the bubbling fountain, the scent of all the flowers, the heat of the steamy air, and her - beautiful, delicious _her._

 **Author's Note: Just a lil' fluff before bedtime. Oh, and yelling at the Duchess of Kent, because that's always fun. ;) Thanks for reading and please do leave a review if you get a quick moment. Fair warning that there are just a few chapters left in this story. Thanks!**


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